


Ride into Obsession

by do_androids_dream



Series: Road of no release (A wolf and his flame series) [1]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Action & Romance, Action/Adventure, Blood Loss, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon - Freeform, Conspiracy, Corvo Bianco (The Witcher), Drama & Romance, Emhyralt, Emralt, Established Relationship, Fanart, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Whump, Hurt Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Major Character Injury, Margarita Laux-Antille - Freeform, Minor Character Death, Non-Canon Relationship, Post-Blood and Wine (The Witcher 3 DLC), Temporary Character Death, Vizima, adventure-story with feelings :)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:28:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 31
Words: 53,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23357794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/do_androids_dream/pseuds/do_androids_dream
Summary: During an attack on the imperial palace, Geralt is seriously injured. But who was this assault actually aimed at? Emhyr and Geralt face new dangers while they try to find out who's behind all this...Or: Emhyr is softer than you think, and since Geralt is in mortal danger, he wants to come clean about his feelings towards him. Geralt on the other hand doesn't only fight with his emotions, but also against the effects of an injury caused by magic.
Relationships: Emhyr var Emreis/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Series: Road of no release (A wolf and his flame series) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1724449
Comments: 193
Kudos: 108





	1. Introduction

**\- Introduction -**  
  


Thank you for entering my headcanon, which involves Emhyr x Geralt in a continuing relationship from here on and a lot of Blind Guardian references. Chapter titles are from songs by Heavy Metal bands.

My writing [playlist](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLNN0QGNgLD0EcSj9bGd9fOBffGaUHh8SN) (Youtube, Spotify is [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3TW6sKp8n9IL02VQqm1Uey)) for this fic.

I'm a non-native, and this fic was not beta-read. 

Thank you for reading this! I'm still amazed by how many people actually like this story. If you're one of them, feel free to leave a comment, or, if it's more comfortable to you, reach out to me on my [Twitter](https://twitter.com/DreamAndroids) or [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/do-androids-dream-ao3acc).

I love hearing from you! Also artists: Please get in touch if you feel inspired for fanart. Love it :)


	2. Doom

— 1 —

It’s going down  
Going down  
And there’s nothing you can do

  
**Doom**

"I admit you were right," Geralt said.   
Emhyr gave him a look that unmistakably meant _I told you so_.   
"Was I, now," he mocked him. 

They lay comfortably stretched out in his bed in the Imperial Palace, the bed from which Emhyr had claimed that the fireworks could be seen particularly well from there. It had been an invitation to which Geralt didn't have to be persuaded, although he had thought the whole thing was a strange kind of romantic impulse anyway, an emotion for which Emhyr was not exactly known. Apart from the obvious intention to get the witcher - which he hadn’t seen for a while due to contracts - into his bed, Emhyr's thoughts had actually been harmless: The Nilfgaardians celebrated the end of the year with huge festivities, crowned by sinfully expensive fireworks, and Emhyr had thought it couldn't hurt if Geralt got to know their customs. 

And Geralt had to admit, he could get used to it: The way they sat here comfortably, relaxed, a little wine, not much clothes. He could have all of this at his vineyard, but rarely with Emhyr, who had to make a great effort to travel to Touissaint, even for a short time, let alone unrecognised and without an imperial entourage. And of course he could not offer this view, the fantastic view from the palace window he was enjoying right now. Furthermore there was the no less inspiring sight of Emhyr, who seemed to enjoy all of this as well. There were few moments when the Emperor appeared so - well, soft. If he showed it, which didn't happen often, it always caused some kind of sensation inside Geralt. Emhyr smiled - which was also not often - and he seemed to enjoy having surprised the witcher. This was no easy task and therefore a welcome challenge. 

Geralt leaned over to him, but even before their lips met, he flinched. Then he frowned and asked, "Do you hear that?"  
Geralt jumped out of the bed and took two steps to the window.  
"What should I have heard?" Emhyr asked frowningly.  
Geralt raised his hand - Quiet! - and listened. It was not easy to reproduce the sound he had heard, because the night was full of noises: There were the fireworks, of course, crackling and whistling, and then the numerous sounds of the revellers in the streets - laughter, drunken roaring, some smashed bottles, even the distant sound of sex. He faded out all that and concentrated on something very specific, on sounds that his hypersensitive hearing had perceived because they were more relevant. And a few seconds later, there they were again: The characteristic rubbing of leather armor in motion. A sharpened sword, pulled from a sheath. Quiet commands spoken in a suppressed voice.   
"The palace is under attack," he said quickly. "Get dressed."  
At the same time, he reached for his own clothes, put on a shirt and searched the room for his boots.

"What?"  
Emhyr got out of bed and slowly approached the window from the side - of course, he was too experienced to make himself a target willingly. While he stood there, leaning slightly against the wall, trying to somehow reconstruct what Geralt had heard, the latter had put on his boots and searched for the pieces of his armour - which for some reason had been carelessly scattered in a corner of the room.   
"I'm relying on your hearing, of course, but surely you're not thinking of investigating the matter," Emhyr said. He withdrew slowly from the window and threw a tunic, which seemed almost modest by his standards, over his trousers and climbed into his shoes.   
"Don't bother with the armour, we'll get out of here immediately."   
Geralt hesitated and looked at him questioningly. 

"There's a protocol, of course," said Emhyr. "We'll get Mikaela, she'll take us to a safe place, and we'll leave the investigation to Novigrad."   
"Novigrad, why Novigrad?"   
"This is a political matter," Emhyr replied curtly. "If Wyzima is attacked, the army command of Novigrad is obliged to send troops as part of the deal. If the palace is attacked, it must be assumed that Wyzima is no longer safe, so the same thing applies. And besides, you know the troops here are mainly for status. They are strategically placed throughout the country. Now go, if it is as you say, we have no time to lose."   
It was impressive to see, though not surprising, how quickly Emhyr could switch between the relaxed private person - or something at least close to it - and the Emperor. And even if Geralt didn't like to leave his armor and even his equipment here and could only take one of the swords with him, it was clear that the safety of the Emperor had top priority. He grasped the steel sword tighter as he left the bedroom, crossed the anteroom and approached the door, told Emhyr with a wave of his hand to stay behind him and carefully opened the door of Emhyr's private chambers. Geralt stepped into the semi-dark hallway and surprisedly registered the guards beside the door.   
"What the hell are you doing here?" he snapped at the men.   
These two exchanged nervous looks.   
"The palace is under attack, don’t you know your duties?" 

Geralt pointed with his sword in his hand towards the corridor, at the end of which there was a staircase leading down. Meanwhile, the noise of battle was clearly audible even from up here, still a bit muffled, a little distant, but unmistakable. Geralt noticed now that his medallion was vibrating, but he didn't understand it, so even though he turned at great speed, he was a touch too slow. The guard on his right had pulled a remarkably long dagger, certainly not a weapon used in the Nilfgaardian army. And he used this one, tiny moment of confusion, that one moment, which should not have been possible: He pushed the weapon into the exposed right side of the witcher, thrust with all his might, turned the dagger and even pulled it down a bit - a single, flowing effort to do as much damage as possible.

Even as he was brought to his knees by the force of the attack and his sword slipped from his hand and landed on the ground, out of his reach, Geralt thought: _I'm an idiot_.   
"Geralt!" yelled Emhyr, who stepped out the door shortly after him - all this had happened in a very short time, in a blink of an eye so fast that none of them could really process it. At the same moment, the second guard stepped forward, rushed past Emhyr, drew his sword and knocked down the attacker with one single violent blow - the man died with a very surprised expression on his face. Emhyr fell to his knees beside Geralt, grabbed his shoulder and tried to assess the injury. Only seconds later his court sorceress Mikaela came running around the corner. The young woman with the short, brown curls took in the confusion with a long look and accelerated her steps even more.

"What is going on here?" she shouted.   
"We are under attack," Emhyr replied.   
"I realize that, that's why I'm here," she hissed. 

Geralt thought for a moment that she was the only sorceress who could allow herself to do so in the presence of the Emperor. Or even the only human being, apart from himself probably. He did not deepen the thought, because he was occupied with breathing - the wound burned like fire, and all of his equipment was behind a door that seemed to be out of reach at the moment. 

"I'm referring to this," Mikaela continued, pointing alternately at Geralt and at the corpse of the guard, next to which, still panting slightly, his comrade was standing, putting away his sword. Emhyr explained briefly that the guard had attacked Geralt, without apparent reason.   
Mikaela thought quickly about it. Of course there was a reason, there always was a reason. The connection with the combat sounds in the basement was obvious.  
"We should hurry. Change of plan," she decided. "I'm opening two portals. I will take Your lmperial Highness to Aretuza, and this guard … do you trust him?" 

Emhyr looked up for a moment and examined the man.   
"I believe he has served me for many years," he answered. "And it seems he has just proved his loyalty."   
The man thus addressed stiffened and bowed slightly.   
"I was just forced to kill my longtime comrade," he said roughly. "I assure Your Imperial Highness that I will protect him."   
Mikaela nodded. "Then he will accompany Geralt to Novigrad. As far as I know, his old friend is a surgeon there - he can take care of him, and the guard will inform the army."   
"I will not leave Geralt alone," said Emhyr, and the suppressed anger in his voice was a clear warning to everyone who knew him. "The sorceresses at Aretuza can take care of him just as well."   
"Of course, but we need the support from Novigrad as soon as possible. And so far we don't know to whom exactly this attack was directed. It is safer to separate you, and it would only be for a short time. As soon as the palace is under control, I will bring him back myself."

Geralt, who by now was laboriously supporting himself on the floor with his left hand - he had noticed that he could no longer use his right arm, which worried him considerably - shifted his weight on his knees. Now he was able to grab Emhyrs hand reassuringly, which was still lying on his shoulder.  
"She's right, it’s safer for you," he said. "Besides, who would believe the story of a single palace guard? We have no time to get your signets, it’s better if I go with him."   
"You suggest I use you as a bargaining chip?"   
"As a witness," Geralt replied calmly. "And you know it's right."   
Turning to the guard and the sorceress, he said: "Help me up. Mikaela, open the portal."   
"Geralt... " Emhyr began, but Geralt cut him off.   
"I'll be with Regis, I’ll be fine. Right now it's more important that you're safe. Leave now." 

He allowed the palace guard to support him, and gave Emhyr - whose petrified face now showed obvious anger paired with concern - a confident look. With more confidence, though, than he actually felt, for if he didn't disappear from Emhyr's sight soon, he feared his lover would see Geralt either throw up in the next corner or lose consciousness. At the moment he couldn't decide which event was more likely. That's why he let the guard willingly pull him through the finally opened portal. 

As they passed through, the portal closed with a crackling flicker of light, and Emhyr stared thoughtfully at where the two had just disappeared to. Mikaela concentrated again - Emhyr thought for a moment that this whole portal thing might not be safe at all, considering how complicated such spells actually were - and opened the second portal. She then urged, "We must go."  
The noise of the battle grew ever closer. There couldn't be many guards between the entrance to the palace and this corridor left now - there were much less men ready for battle anyway than one could assume. He wasn't careless, but such a direct attack had been a thought construct so far, for which there was a plan, but nobody had really believed that it would ever have to be implemented. Emhyr vowed to think about it better in the future. 

Emhyr's last look before he went through the portal fell on the pool of blood on the floor, and his face hardened even more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I still appreciate your comments on this one, if you like :)


	3. At the edge of time

— 2 — 

Was it real what I saw in the mirror?  
Was it fear when the end got clearer?

  
**At the edge of time**

  
After the necessary discussions, arrangements and plans had been made, Emhyr had retreated to one of the balconies of the Academy to get some air. Mikaela found him there, hands resting on the balustrade and staring into the distance. During the conversations he had been entirely the Emperor: imperious and unyielding in his purpose, and at the same time diplomatic where necessary. Not all the sorceresses liked the fact that Mikaela had chosen Aretuza of all places as a refuge for the Emperor, but everyone knew that it was also thanks to him that the Academy existed again. Mikaela was grateful for this - like all the students present at the dark times, she too had had to leave the place in the middle of her training. For a long time, there had been nothing but escape and hiding and fear. Not many had returned because simply not many of the former students were alive anymore. There were new ones, but Aretuza was still under construction at all levels. It was thanks to her excellent talent and iron will that Mikaela had become Emhyr's personal enchantress after such a short time. Well, also the fact that few experienced sorceresses were available and he trusted the least of them might have played a role.

She wondered if any of those who had been present at the talks had noticed the suppressed anger in his voice. Margarita perhaps, who had again taken over the leadership of the academy, but probably no one else.   
  
"Emhyr," she began, once again striking the familiar tone as they were alone.  
"You can't possibly still be angry at my decision? You know it was right.“  
  
Mikaela allowed herself this familiar tone for only two reasons: First, they were alone. And secondly, he himself had suggested this a few months ago. It had, of course, been Geralt's idea. Surprisingly, the witcher, who practiced one of the loneliest professions with a bad reputation, had a dazzling talent for winning people over. They had become friends, and he had worked hard to ensure that Emhyr treated her - if not like a friend - at least like someone who was allowed to get a little bit closer to him than most others. That he allowed her to call him by his first name did not mean that he trusted her completely - no ruler ever trusted his own sorceresses completely. But it was a start, and Mikaela knew how to talk to him when she really needed to get through to him. Emhyr had to know that she would never willingly put Geralt in danger - she doubted that she had the power necessary - , and yet caring for the Emperor was her most important task.

„Of course we could have contacted Novigrad just as easily from here, but..."   
"But if the attack was really meant for me, nobody knows now if it was successful - and even if it wasn't, the decision to separate us was safer", Emhyr finished her sentence.   
  
He did not turn around, but she noticed by his white knuckles that he gripped the balustrade of the balcony tighter.   
"That is not the reason for my... annoyance," he replied. "It has nothing to do with you. You showed quick thinking, I appreciate that.“   
Mikaela could tell by the tone of his voice that it was better not to go into the subject. They remained silent for a while until Emhyr finally asked, "How long have we been here?"   
„Not more than a couple of hours," said Mikaela thoughtfully. And then she realized, "You're worried?"   
  
Now Emhyr turned to her and said: "We should have heard from them a while ago. So you tell me, should I be concerned?“   
Mikaela shrugged.   
„Novigrad is not exactly close. It may take a while before..."   
"If everything had gone according to plan," Emhyr interrupted her, "it would have lasted barely more than two hours. One of your sorceresses works for the embassy. If I'm not mistaken, I myself advocated her employment. So, even if my guard wasn't convincing enough for the commander - if Geralt was with him, he surely thought of the sorceress and the ability to use her communication capabilities. We should have known by now if the army had moved on." 

  
Mikaela knew what he actually meant: They would have known by now if Geralt was well. If they had heard of him until now, she herself would have brought him to Aretuza already. That they hadn't heard anything just now could mean that he wasn't with the guard anymore - but what did that imply? The conversations with the sorceresses had taken a long time and distracted her somewhat, and furthermore, injuries were nothing unusual for the witcher, who should be in good hands in the company of his friend, the barber surgeon. But now she was also worried. Now the fact that quite a lot of time had passed could no longer be denied. While she was still searching for the right words to calm Emhyr, a young sorceress stepped onto the balcony. She turned red and wrung her hands, obviously she was considering whether to bow or not.

  
"What is the matter?" Mikaela pressed upon her.   
"A message from Sorceress Ravenna of Novigrad," the other one said, clearly uncomfortable with the fact that she had to face both the Emperor and his sorceress. Mikaela smiled confidently at Emhyr.   
"Well, you see, there's no need to worry."   
Now that news was available, Emhyr relaxed a little and followed her back into the Academy.


	4. Journey through the dark

— 3 — 

Many songs I’ve written  
About the things I saw  
My inner soul’s a wasteland  
I can’t run away from here

  
**Journey through the dark**

  
Supported by the guard, Geralt stumbled through the portal, which brought his desire to vomit to the fore. All the more so when he, despite the almost starless night, immediately realized where they were - namely by no means directly in front of the former Vilmerius Hospital, which Regis had taken over several months ago. Instead, they had ended up a few streets away, on the edge of the city near the river. He knew the place - over there, a stone's throw away, was a tavern where he and Dandelion had often stayed in the past, at least before Dandelion himself entered the liquor business and somehow settled down. Geralt cursed inwardly, it would be a rather arduous journey from here on. The dagger was still stuck in his side and the injury really got to him now. Mikaela had hurried when she had conjured the portal, and after all she had opened two of them almost simultaneously. She was strong, but still a bit inexperienced, and she didn't know Novigrad that well. 

His medallion vibrated, for the second time today, and when almost simultaneously the guard's grip on his shoulders increased, he finally understood.   
  
_"I'm fucked,"_ he thought fleetingly, and " _I really am an idiot."_  
The man next to him had pulled a knife and held it against Geralt's neck.   
"Time to finish the job," he grunted, and from the satisfied grin on his face he was visibly proud of himself - which, in Geralt's humble opinion, he was perfectly entitled to be.  
After all, he had deceived the Emperor, a witcher and a sorceress. Geralt began to hastily form a sign with his left hand when both were suddenly startled by a noise. It came from the bushes near the sloping bank. A man stepped out, a strangely familiar, though clearly drunk figure in shockingly colorful robes. No, he staggered out, he had obviously relieved himself in the bushes and was still busy putting his trousers back in order. Geralt, although blessed with superhuman vision, squinted his eyes together and could hardly believe it.  
  
Dandelion? What the hell was he doing here - obviously drunk as a bull? He'll have a lot to tell, Geralt thought briefly.

Dandelion stood only a few steps in front of them and only now he noticed the two men. Swaying slightly, he shouted cheerfully (and clearly very drunk): "Oh, I'm sorry, gentlemen, I didn’t see you there ... uh, just a moment, Geralt, is this you?“   
Yes, he was primed, but naturally he recognized his old friend. There was something strange about the way he looked, though.   
  
„Always a joy to... a joy to see you," he stammered, and then he narrowed his eyes and said,   
"But hey, what's that supposed to mean?" when he saw the knife. The palace guard - former palace guard, Geralt thought blurry - snorted angrily. Because the plan, whatever it was, had failed again, or simply because he was unnerved - it was hard to tell. When he thought about it - much later - Geralt believed that the man's next move could also have been a spontaneous idea, because he didn't know what to do. The guy swung out with the knife and threw it at Dandelion, who dodged with the skill and luck of the drunkards. 

"Hey," Dandelion yelled, surprised and annoyed, and he stumbled a few steps forward, towards the two men. To throw the knife, his attacker had loosened the grip of his other hand for a moment, but Geralt had not been able to use this advantage and almost fell backwards instead. Something was clearly wrong here, something was especially wrong with him. But he was not given time to think about it. The moment had passed, and the other one held him again and shouted in Dandelion's direction: "Stay out of this!“  
  
The man clearly had no idea who stood there before him, Dandelion thought, even if his thoughts were quite hazy. As if he, Dandelion, had ever let his best friend down, even if it meant that he would be pelted with knives!   
Geralt used the general confusion to hurl the sign Aard at the guard, but it was basically just a weak attempt. It only made the man more angry, and he uttered a veritable series of curses. Then he did something completely unexpected: He grabbed the dagger that was still sticking out of Geralt's right flank and tore it out with a tremendous jerk. Geralt screamed, he couldn't help it, the pain was overwhelming, agonizing, and so was his scream. 

Three things now happened almost simultaneously. The first: Dandelion froze and suddenly sobered up. It was something he had read about it, of course, but he would never have considerd it possible. And he surely had never heard a scream like this before. One day, he would probably write a song about it - if only to forget about it - in which the people in the streets would close their windows in fear when they heard the cry.  
The second: The innkeeper of the nearby tavern came rushing out and shouted, "What's going on here?" He was a chubby guy, that had never been a cowardly man before, and that scream had been bestial.   
The third: The attacker, once a long-time palace guard, now apparently a traitor, pushed Geralt away with another curse, threw the dagger at Dandelion too - he wasn’t really aiming, and it went way off - and fled into the night and the dark streets of Novigrad.

Dandelion awoke from his paralysis and rushed to Geralt. Still running he took off his jacket by pure instinct. When he had reached his friend, now lying on the ground, he desperately pressed the cloth onto the bloodstream emerging from his side. That much Dandelion had learned in his former travels with the witcher, for despite his previously befogged state he had realized that the weapon shouldn't have been removed just like that. It had at least partially closed the wound, but now the danger was threatening him to bleed to death. So Dandelion pressed as hard as he could while he spat out words in anxiety: "Geralt, I hope you know I paid a fortune for this piece of cloth and you're ruining it right now. Why the hell did you show up in the middle of the night and are bleeding all over my clothes?“  
The witcher did not answer, his eyes were closed, and his already pale face was even more pallid, if that was at all possible.   
"Geralt!" Dandelion gave him a few light slaps, without reaction. He looked around in panic. The innkeeper was still standing in front of his tavern, he seemed hesitant. Dandelion knew him, of course, he knew all the innkeepers of the city, he was even friends with some of them, although they were basically his competitors. The man’s name was Luc, as far as he knew, came from Touissaint. He never understood why that man preferred Novigrad. 

"Help!" cried Dandelion. "Please!"   
The innkeeper had apparently freed itself from its solidification and had already set itself in motion.  
"Master Dandelion?" he asked incredulously. "And I believe this is... the witcher," he said, intimidated by the amount of blood that was seen. "By the gods, what happened?"   
"I have no idea," Dandelion groaned. He would have loved to shake Geralt now and ask him what the hell he was doing here without his armour and bleeding like a pig at the gates of Novigrad, but he was very busy right now.   
"I have a cart,“ Luc suddenly said. "We can try to take him to the hospital, it’s not far.“   
"Splendid idea, get the cart, hurry up" said Dandelion between clenched teeth. Trying is the key word, he thought. But he knew that the hospital and especially its current owner was the best chance Geralt had now. 

Dandelion later didn't remember the way, the ride on the wagon, how long it had taken or what Luc, who was driving the horse and seemed to be yapping constantly, had said at all. He only remembered how he pressed a piece of cloth - which had once been a very expensive, very elegant and very beautiful jacket, and was now a pile of bloody rags - very tightly into Geralt's side. In addition, some parts of his memory seemed to be missing. For suddenly there was Regis' reassuring, familiar figure next to him, patient and calm as always, who put his hands next to his own and said softly, kindly to him: "You can let go now, I'll do it, Dandelion."   
It was only much later that Dandelion thought whether it was really such a good idea to leave such a bloody business to an abstinent vampire. On the other hand, Regis was also his friend, and he was a surgeon, and he knew what he was doing, and he had taken over the clinic and had to deal with blood every day - and besides, his thoughts were irrelevant. 

Regis had taken over the leadership. He had carried Geralt inside together with the innkeeper - he could have done it all by himself, but for obvious reasons he would not present the nature of his strength to the inhabitants of the city. Although he was aware that a vampire had worked here before - a fact he found extremely ironic when he bought the clinic - he was of course still careful not to reveal his true nature. He than had thanked Luc very kindly, had put a purse in his hand and said goodbye to him with warm words. After this he had taken a brief look at the wound, removing Dandelion's jacket very carefully - and then scattered it into Dandelion’s hand with the words: "I'm afraid you can throw it away, my dear. But if you want, there's a well in the yard, you can try to wash it." 

Dandelion had simply mechanically put one foot in front of the other, opened a few doors and finally found the backyard Regis had spoken of. It was a beautiful place, lined with many plants, in the middle of which stood the said fountain. Dandelion, his jacket between pointed fingers, moved closer, stared into the water of the fountain, stared at his jacket, laughed hysterically and threw up right next to the fountain.

* * *

I received this art piece as a gift by [@deagle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/deagle/pseuds/deagle) :) [](https://abload.de/image.php?img=ridex9kye.jpg)


	5. Dark cloud’s rising

— 4 —

  
Am I trapped in lies?  
Who can tell me?

  
**Dark cloud’s rising**

Emhyr followed Mikaela and the young sorceress through winding corridors to a room where he had never been before. It was a small chamber, brightly lit by many candles, and it contained a megascope, obviously set up for official purposes. Apart from this, there was only a desk and some bookshelves. At the table sat another nervous-looking sorceress, whose task seemed to be to write down messages, because in front of her were paper and a pen that was ready to write. Margarita Laux-Antille was also present. 

In the slightly blurred but perfectly recognizable image of the megascope, Emhyr noticed a woman who vaguely reminded him of someone until it occurred to him that this must be the Sorceress of the Nilfgaardian Embassy. Anya Ravenna, as he remembered. 

"Your Imperial Highness", she greeted him, and he nodded to her image slightly.   
"We have received word that the palace in Wyzima has been attacked. The commander has assembled a squad to investigate the matter, they will arrive there in the course of tomorrow. There are, however, other news that complicate matters. There's someone here who wants to talk to you.“  
It was clear to see that the sorceress was anything but happy about it. Emhyr squinted his eyes together to get a better grasp of the image, as he felt as if he did not see the familiar rooms of the embassy in the background. 

Nevertheless, for a moment Emhyr felt very relieved, because obviously it had to be Geralt he would see in a second, which would have meant that he had worried for nothing. However, this feeling changed quickly and when he saw who entered the image now, it hit him like a cold blow in the pit of his stomach. For some reason, the sight of Geralt's old friend, Regis, the barber surgeon, did not calm him at all. And when Regis began to speak, a feeling stirred in Emhyr that he hadn't felt for a very, very long time - it was fear. 

"Your Imperial Highness," Regis began, and he, nonchalant and deft as ever, even hinted at an elegant little bow. "I'm afraid I have some rather unpleasant news.“


	6. A voice in the dark

— 5 —

  
Paralyzed and frozen  
Free your mind  
You’re broken

  
**A voice in the dark**

  
Geralt opened his catlike eyes so abruptly and unexpectedly that an ordinary doctor would probably have been frightened - at least with a patient who had been lying in deep unconsciousness before. But not even the patient was ordinary in this matter, and so Regis just calmly remarked: "Ah, there you are again, my friend.“   
Then he continued in the cheerful, reassuring voice he had reserved for his patients: "I'm afraid, however, you didn't choose the best time to come to your senses. I need to clean out this injury, this is going to hurt." 

Geralt knew this kind of voice, he knew the procedure, and so he didn't even blink when Regis continued to examine and clean his wound. His whole side was on fire, spiraling up and down, more pain didn't make a difference to him.  
  
"I know you're probably not in the mood for a chat, my friend, but maybe you'd like to explain to me why you showed up in Novigrad in the middle of the night, without your weapons, without armor - even without your horse, I think - with this really ... rather unpleasant injury, I would say? May I say that one or two potions from your veritable collection would have been helpful right now, but it doesn't look as if you have them either ... You're rather lucky that Dandelion happened to be around.“

"So it really was him," mumbled Geralt. Then, when a thought crossed his mind, he suddenly tried to sit up. Although he realized that he still could only use one arm, he managed to lean on one elbow, much to Regis' surprise. The vampire made a disapproving sound and pressed him gently but firmly back onto the examination table.   
  
"Emhyr," Geralt said, and because Regis saw that he wanted to make another attempt to lift his upper body, he put one hand on Geralt's chest.   
"What about him?" Regis asked. "And please lie still."   
Regis knew Geralt's iron will, but his own strength was superhuman, and so Geralt finally gave up trying to move. He was too weak for that anyway. He was more than ready to surrender to the darkness again, because in the meantime he could feel Regis' cool, precise touches on his right side very closely. But he had to tell him.   
"He must know that he was betrayed once more," he pressed out.   
„Betrayed by whom?" Regis asked, his dark eyes under his gray eyebrows looked interested.  
  
Geralt gave him a rather short, choppy summary of the events and Regis clicked his tongue.   
"A palace guard did this?" he asked. "The weapon with which you were wounded would be an interesting sight. The injury seems to be quite fresh, but so far I see no signs of healing at all. And from what I know about a witcher's metabolism thanks to you, at least some kind of tissue regeneration should have taken place, or at least the first signs of it."  
"That has its limits", Geralt replied faintly.   
"Absolutely", Regis admitted. "But..."   
At that moment he noticed that the witcher's head rolled to one side, his eyes were closed again. "... I think magic is at work here," Regis finished his sentence. With a concern in his voice that none of his patients ever heard, he continued: "And I think we need the help of a sorceress“.

  
After taking care of his patient as much as he could, Regis searched for Dandelion. Meanwhile, he thought what a happy coincidence it was that the two of them had turned up at the hospital today of all days - surprisingly, he had no patients, and the only helper he had hired had been sent home some hours ago. Regis found Dandelion still in the courtyard, sitting on the well, pale and with an empty gaze. He paused briefly and then spoke to him: "I am grateful to you for not throwing up in the flower beds, Dandelion. They grow herbs for my work, you must know." Dandelion just snorted.   
"How is he?" he asked.   
Regis shrugged his shoulders. 

"You know Geralt, he probably wouldn't say it was unpleasant until you cut off a limb… But it's a really serious and painful injury. And my guess is that magic was used here. He came to his senses for a moment and could tell me what happened," he added and put Dandelion in the picture.   
"Emhyr must know about this," Dandelion said.   
"Exactly what Geralt said," Regis replied, "and I agree. The threat goes deeper when his own palace guards are involved - he basically can't trust anyone in the palace.“   
Dandelion jumped up from the well, slowly the color came back into his face and his eyes started to sparkle. The idea for a new ballad must have been stirring in him, Regis thought, and then another thought accured to him.   
  
"If I may ask, my dear, what exactly were you doing out there, alone and obviously drunk? Oh, don't look at me like that, the odor is still on you, as is the vomit, by the way."   
Dandelion fumbled around his clothes in panic and then said stupidly, "Oh, you mean the smell. I'm sorry. But, um... ...I don't want to talk about anything else right now."   
He pulled a face and then quickly went on: "We'd better think of how to contact the Emperor. If he is in Aretuza, as you say, we will need the help of a sorceress, I think. Even more so if Geralt has been wounded by some magical whatsoever … Ah! Wait, I know something. The Nilfgaardian Embassy."   
Regis frowned.

"A marvelous idea, my friend, but how are we going to get a sorceress of the Nilfgaardian Embassy to listen to us?"   
Dandelion smiled. "I happen to know Anya Ravenna."   
"Dandelion..." Regis said sceptically and Dandelion made a horrified face.   
"Oh no no no, not like that, good Gods! Ravenna is a great lover of the arts. I've already given a guest performance at the embassy."   
"So you believe she would see you?" Regis asked, not completely convinced.   
"Definitely", Dandelion replied and was already on his way to the door.   
"I will convince her to send a message to Aretuza."   
  
"Wait", Regis said. An idea had occurred to him. "Make her come here, if that is possible. With a... a megascope."   
"Why?" asked Dandelion, puzzled.  
„Because, as you yourself pointed out, there are two things we must tell a sorceress. And I'd like to do that myself - and I just can't leave here right now for obvious reasons."   
Dandelion had no idea what Regis was getting at, but apparently the matter was pressing, and if he thought it was the right thing to do, Dandelion would not doubt him. So he ran off, and as he ran, he thought of the right words that would convince a Nilfgaardian sorceress to listen to a bard who was notorious for being impertinent, and to grant a request that was guaranteed to be considered impertinent.


	7. Imaginations from the other side

— 6 —

Imaginations from the other side  
Far out of nowhere

  
**Imaginations of the other side**

"What happened?" Emhyr asked with much more composure than he felt - but in the company of sorceresses he could hardly allow himself anything else, and after all he had trained for many years to suppress his feelings. He had always felt this as a kind of common ground with Geralt, but right now he forbade himself this thought. 

The picture in the megascope flickered for a moment, whereupon Margarita gave the young sorceress at the desk a sharp look. But the sound worked perfectly.  
"To make a long story short", Regis said, "Geralt was attacked by the guard you sent along, apparently to have him brought to my hospital."   
Emhyr stiffened. "Meaning?" he asked in a cold voice.   
"Well, in the last consequence it means that I ask for the help of a sorceress," Regis replied.  
"For I have reason to believe that the attack was magical, or at least the weapon used. The natural healing does not work, and the usual methods of treatment have no effect." 

"So he is alive?"   
"Oh, but of course, I'm sorry if I mistakenly gave the impression…"   
Regis' eyes were wide open, it was plain to see even in the never quite accurate image of the megascope. He couldn't possibly have seen the slight movement Emhyr had involuntarily made when he relaxed his tense muscles, even though one could never be sure about the vampire. Still, he knew, of course, what the witcher meant to Emhyr, and should have chosen his words better. 

„Luckily his old friend Dandelion discovered him in time and brought him to me. He is not particularly well, I am afraid, which is the reason for my request. But, as you well know, the fact that there could be magic involved means there must be much more to the attack on the palace."   
"I am aware of that," Emhyr replied stiffly, „and will take care of it. In what way do you need help?"   
"I suggest you have Geralt taken to Aretuza, where a sorceress can see his wound and confirm my suspicions that magic was involved. Lady Ravenna has been very helpful, but unfortunately she lacks the necessary experience in the art of healing, and she assures me that she is unable to open a portal to Aretuza..." 

Emhyr looked at Margarita. She nodded and explained briefly and in a quiet voice: "Ravenna has never been trained in Aretuza. She does not know the place. It’s rather unsafe to open a portal to a place where you never have been before.“  
Emhyr didn't want to go into this now, but decided to come back to it later - for what reason was such an inexperienced sorceress, who had not even been trained at the most prestigious academy, used in this position? Mikaela, who had stood behind Emhyr all the time, stepped forward and whispered something into his ear. He just nodded and said, "I will send my court sorceress to fetch you and Geralt. She can also pick up Dandelion later. Since he helped Geralt, he might be in danger and besides, I would like to talk to him. Beyond that, his frantic waving seems as if he absolutely wants to come along," he added dryly - he could spot the bard at the edge of the Megascope image. „But now, please let me speak to Ravenna for a moment." 

Regis stepped out of the picture, and the blonde sorceress, visibly nervous, was seen again.   
"I would have liked to be more helpful," she said, "but healing was never my specialty."   
Emhyr silenced her with a gesture.   
"I need a detailed report on what the soldiers will find in the palace," he ordered. "Send a courier after the commandant. All servants are to be arrested and interrogated, including all guards."   
Anya Ravenna visibly tried to hide her surprise, and nodded.   
"Consider it done, your Imperial Highness. We await your sorceress at Lord Terzieff-Godefroy's hospital."   
"You are at the hospital?" Emhyr followed up in surprise. This explained why the background did not seem familiar to him.   
"Yes, Master Dandelion can be quite persuasive - it was the doctor's wish to speak to you himself, as he could not leave his patient." 

Emhyr nodded, thanking the sorceress and signalling Margarita to end the connection. She silently gave the order to her subordinate. After that, she spoke quite gruffly to Emhyr: "Aretuza is not fit to care for the wounded."   
"I trust you will make an exception in this case," said Emhyr sharply, every inch the Emperor. He knew very well that he officially had no political power over the Academy, but the sorceresses had always served the rulers. Margarita may have defied him to keep up appearances, but she knew exactly what Aretuza owed him - and what she herself owed Geralt personally. She would not refuse. 

And she did not. She pretended not to be satisfied with his decision, and she really wasn't. The academy was a kind of refuge for her, a place of refuge that was to be unburdened by what the students would have to face later in the world. No one had understood this as much as the former headmistress Tissaia de Vries, who had always maintained neutrality. Nevertheless, there had always been different sides among her peers, and Margarita knew very well that a favor in one direction would one day become a favor in return. And so she instructed the unfortunate sorceress at the desk to prepare one of the guest rooms on the upper floor and to be ready for the wishes the surgeon would probably express. She then led Emhyr and Mikaela into that room so that the latter could open a portal from there.


	8. Another stranger me

— 7 —

Out and gone  
Can’t resist  
Cold and sore  
The bolt of pain  
Keeps ripping through my head  
I can take no more

Don’t tell anyone else but I  
Do not believe her  
She hates me  
Clouds my mind  
She’s a deceiver

  
**Another stranger me**

  
Emhyr awaited Regis' arrival eagerly, for he was still worried about Geralt's condition. Even more than before, after what Regis had said about the severity of his injury. However, nothing could prepare him for the sight he was about to see when the two of them finally emerged from the portal and entered Aretuza. 

Regis carried Geralt on his arms, which was an easy thing for the vampire - although a little smaller and of almost skinny build. It struck Emhyr with a blow to see the witcher like that, the sight caused him almost physical pain. He could hardly see his face, it was facing Regis, but he was terribly pale and apparently unconscious. The upper part of his body was undressed, except for the medallion, the wound expertly dressed, but the bandages were bloody. With ease Regis carried the witcher to the only bed in the room and laid him down carefully. Then, almost mechanically, he laid a hand on Geralt's forehead, then felt the pulse on his wrist - although it never told him much because it was so much slower than that of an ordinary person - and only then did he turn to the Emperor with a bow. Shortly afterwards Dandelion stepped out of the portal, took a quick look around the room and also indicated a bow with the words "Your Imperial Highness".   
"Master Dandelion", Emhyr nodded to him briefly. He turned to Regis. "The status?" he asked. "Unchanged," Regis replied. Margarita stepped forward.   
"May I?" she asked, without waiting for an answer, and bent over the unconscious witcher. A wave of her hand, a short muttered spell was all that was needed.   
"Definitely magic," she said. „I assume the wound is still bleeding?"   
Regis nodded. "The bleeding stopped in between, but then started again. The wound does not close, although it should be showing the first signs of a beginning healing by now, due to his, well, special regenerative ability. Even without the help of his potions, which we don’t have at hand.“

Margarita pursed her lips.   
„Witcher potions may help with the pain, but I doubt they would do much more. What he needs now is a truly experienced healer."   
"Is anybody like that around?" Emhyr asked. He had come closer to the bed, his face a dark mask that neither Regis nor Margarita could interpret.  
"No," she replied. "What is required here - this kind of magic cannot be performed by any of my students."  
"Well, who can?" he asked impatiently.  
Margarita hesitated.  
"Triss Merigold," she replied.   
Emhyr raised one eyebrow. He was well aware of the sorceress and Geralt's shared past. That was a long time ago, but like his previous relationship with the former advisor to the King of Aedirn, Yennefer of Vengerberg, it did not necessarily end well. Geralt had never been on good terms with sorceresses - or mages, for that matter. In any case, Emhyr could not be sure if Merigold would help him. But if it was necessary, he would order her to do so. Or beg her. His nerves were already strained to breaking point.   
„Try to make contact with her," he said in the direction of Margarita's. "I'll go with you and ask her myself." Margarita just nodded and left, the sorceress from the communications room in tow, who would have to operate the Megascope once more. Emhyr followed them after he had taken another long look at Geralt. 

Surprisingly, it was not difficult to get Triss Merrigold to help, even if it was - or precisely because it was - the Emperor who asked. She immediately agreed to put her duties at Kovir behind her at short notice. In no time she arrived in Aretuza by teleportation. She seemed disturbed when she saw Geralt and confirmed Margarita's diagnosis that the wound was magically caused.   
"I would say the weapon itself was magical, not its bearer," she specified.   
"The attackers were my own guards," Emhyr said gloomily. "I doubt if the men possessed any magical powers. After what happened today, of course, I can't be sure of that either."   
He rubbed his hand across his forehead, the first visible sign of his exhaustion, and currently he hardly cared who saw him doing it.   
"What kind of weapon was it?" Triss asked.   
"A dagger, I think," Emhyr replied.   
Triss looked thoughtful. "Where is this dagger now?"   
Emhyr raised his hands in surprise - neither did he know this, nor had this question seemed important to him before.   
But even more surprising was Dandelion's reply: "I guess it's still lying in Novigrad's dust."   
Emhyr had completely forgotten about the bard, who - most unusually for him - had been sitting quietly by the window.   
"Pardon?" Triss asked irritated.   
"Well, this guy threw it at me after he..." He didn't complete his sentence, and everyone could tell by the look on his face that he preferred not to pursue that thought again.   
"He threw the dagger at you, and the weapon is still at the site of the attack?" Triss elaborated, and Dandelion nodded.   
"We could well use it," she then said.“  
„I can get it, I guess I would find it again," the bard offered.   
„Then I suggest you get going immediately," Emhyr said tense. The sorceress nodded, and for the umpteenth time today - or better that night - a portal was opened, after Dandelion had described and narrowed down the location of the attack as precisely as possible. It did not take long, for among Dandelion's many talents was an infallible memory not only for names and stories, but also for places. He had quickly found the weapon, it was still lying in the grass near the riverbank, untouched. They soon returned with it. 

"It would be better if everyone left the room now," Triss Merigold said after she had a quick look at the dagger. "What I am going to do now is difficult, I need all my concentration. Regis, may I ask you to stay here. You can take care of Geralt and help me."   
Regis had no idea what that help might consist of, but Geralt was still his patient, he would have insisted on staying anyway. But Emhyr hesitated. Mikaela, who stood next to him, sensed what was going on inside him and put a hand on his shoulder. He had to have the feeling to leave Geralt alone again and that had already gone wrong the last time. That must have been the reason for his previous anger, she believed.   
"You can't help him," Triss said, which sounded almost cruel but was the pure truth. "What is about to happen will be extremely unpleasant. Believe me, you don't want to be there. But hopefully he will be better in the end."   
"Hopefully?" he snapped and looked Triss straight in the eye. "I hope you know that's not enough." With that, he turned and left the room with everyone else who was not needed.

The guest bedroom included a smaller, modestly, though not uncomfortably furnished anteroom with some comfortable seating. Dandelion had settled in an armchair after Margarita had said goodbye for the night - and it was still the middle of the night, although the morning was not far off, as Emhyr realized. Mikaela also withdrew - there was nothing for her to do now. But Emhyr did not want to sit down. He feared that he would fall asleep as soon as he rested for even a moment, even though on the other hand he felt so restless that he probably could not sleep at all. So he went to Dandelion and said to him, "I haven't had a chance to thank you yet. It was an unusually fortunate coincidence that you were in that place at that particular time."   
Dandelion shrugged it off.   
"I can assure you that I too would have preferred to have been somewhere else. But I'm glad I was there." 

The men nodded at each other in silence. This turned into discomfort when slowly but audibly painful moans were heard from the next room. Triss's voice, previously very quiet, grew louder, even though their intonations were not understandable to Emhyr. Then she called out, clearly audible: "Regis! Hold him down!"   
Emhyr's neck hair stood up, when suddenly the moaning turned into screaming.   
„What the hell is going on in there?" Emhyr hissed between clenched teeth and took a step towards the door. Dandelion jumped up and placed himself between Emhyr and the door.   
"No," he said simply. "Triss made it clear she was not to be disturbed. You may not go in now. You must bear it. I have endured it too, all the blood and... You have to."   
When Emhyr made a move, Dandelion put both hands on his chest and looked at him pleadingly. His grip was surprisingly strong. The bard was a well-built man, stronger than he looked, contrary to his striking appearance, which might have made him appear soft and weak. The screams were terrible and Emhyr wanted nothing more than to rush in and punish anyone who dared to hurt Geralt. But Dandelion was a man of many talents, by the gods, and persuasion was only one of them. Emhyr grasped the bard's arms with a firm grip, a confirming grip that he had understood. He looked at him long and said: "You were very brave. I'm sure it wasn't easy."   
"I lost a very good jacket," Dandelion said - a remark that almost made Emhyr smile.

In the meantime, the bedroom had become quiet again and shortly afterwards the door opened. Regis stepped out, wiping his hands on a cloth, behind him Triss, visibly exhausted.   
"Well? How did it go?" Emhyr demanded to know.   
"I think he will be better soon," Triss replied. "However, I was not able to close the wound completely. For a full healing, we must know who cast the spell."   
"The weapon wasn't enough?" Emhyr followed up. She shook her head.   
"Then we didn't get much further," he said coldly, and took a step towards the door.   
Triss held him back. "You shouldn't go in now. Geralt needs to rest. In this state, the wound is no longer a threat, but as long as we can't heal the injury, he'll remain weak. It will also take some time before he can use his sword arm again."   
Emhyr, who hadn't even known there was trouble at this point, threw a long glance at her. His voice was colder than ice when he spoke to her.   
“After all that was clearly heard out here, you have subjected him to cruel treatment, which in the end didn't even bring the desired success, and now you want to prevent me from convincing myself of that as well? I think not."   
Triss frowned. "Well, in that case I will withdraw," she said sharply, indicated a mocking little bow and left the room. Regis made an unhappy face.   
"Your Imperial Highness, that was really..."   
Emhyr cut him off. "I will apologize to her later," he said. 

Dandelion, who had followed the conversation with his mouth open, now jumped up and said: "I think I'll say goodbye now, too. I'm sure Priscilla will wonder where I've been for the past few hours."   
His face twisted into a not quite perfect smile. Emhyr reached out and said, "I'm sorry. I thank you again for your help."   
Dandelion took Emhyr's hand. His handshake was surprisingly strong, and now his smile was real. "I look forward to rubbing this story in Geralt's face one day. Saved by the bard's finest silk... oh, this will be excellent..." With these words he also left the room and went looking for a sorceress to take him home.  
  
Regis watched him leave, then turned back to Emhyr and said, "She wasn't wrong, Geralt really needs rest now.“  
"I'll see to that," Emhyr replied curtly.   
Regis nodded. "I will check on him again in a few minutes," he said. Emhyr understood the hint perfectly, and he had no intention to undermine the healer's instructions. But he had to see Geralt now. 


	9. Beyond the wall

— 8 —

The enemy  
Oh I know  
Their time is at hand  
Obedience   
For sure  
They will follow the plan  
Still, I know  
Their time is at hand  
We build an asylum

**Beyond the wall**

  
He entered the darkened sleeping chamber as quietly as possible and approached the bed. It hurt him how incredibly vulnerable Geralt seemed, how he lay there, so Emhyr didn't dare to sit on the edge. Instead he knelt down on the floor in front of it and looked at Geralt for a long time. The sight of the witcher was almost unbearable to him: He lay motionless, his naked torso was half covered by bandages. The milk-white hair, which he hadn't even been able to tie up, fell over his face. No one had bothered to take off his trousers, but his bare feet were freed from the boots. His hips were sticking from dried blood. Emhyr felt like he had disturbed something that had not yet been completed, and he actually felt a touch of guilt towards Triss Merigold. 

Alone at last, Emhyr was able to strip the Emperor like a second skin, and he allowed his concerns and fears to become apparent. Carefully, he stroked the unruly streaks from Geralt's face. It seemed peaceful, but Emhyr noticed the not yet completely dried trace of a single tear that the pain of the past minutes had wrested from him. It almost broke his heart, and he suddenly felt as if he had only now realized the depth of his feelings. Then he reached for Geralt's hands and squeezed them gently. Surprisingly, there was an answer to this at least on his left hand, and a moment later he noticed that Geralt's golden eyes were looking at him. 

"You're here," he said softly. His voice sounded hoarse.  
"I am here," Emhyr answered, and he stroked the hands he was holding with his thumbs. Geralt had closed his eyes again, but opened them once more when he heard Emhyr say, "I am sorry, Geralt.“  
"Hm?" he murmured confusedly.   
"I persuaded you to leave without your armor or your equipment. You wouldn't have been hurt so badly if we had taken more time. You relied on me, and it was a mistake."   
There it was, and now he had said it. For hours this decision had been gnawing at him. He had been angry, yes, and he still was, but at himself. Right now he felt no more anger, he just felt bad. More precisely, he felt guilty.  
"That bothers you?" Geralt asked, and a soft sound escaped him, which under other circumstances might have passed for a laugh. He squeezed Emhyr's hand as hard as he could with his own left hand - which allowedly wasn't very impressive right now - and said: "The decision was right at that moment. You are not to blame. And besides, that much I overheard: the weapon was magical - just as my medallion indicated, I just didn't understand it at the time. Whether I would have worn any armor or had more time is probably irrelevant. And in addition: I don't think it's a mistake to trust you or to rely on you. That assumption is ridiculous. I do rely on you, all the time.“   
For the usually rather taciturn witcher, these had been many words, and they had visibly exhausted him. Great, thought Emhyr. One more item on the list of things he felt guilty for, no matter what Geralt said - even if his words were logical.   
  
At that moment the door opened and Regis came in silently.   
"Your Imperial Highness," he said softly. Emhyr understood and nodded slightly.   
"Sleep now," he said to Geralt and wanted to get up. But Geralt didn't let go of his hands, thanks to his stubborn will he squeezed even with his almost completely unfeeling right hand. Regis came closer, took a quick look at the bandages, examined his face and said: "You really should rest now, my friend." Geralt just looked at Emhyr, and the latter recognized the unspoken request in it.   
"I will stay," he said. "Until he falls asleep."   
There was nothing else to discuss - since there was no immediate danger and Geralt seemed to be unable to keep his eyes open for five minutes anyway, Regis surrendered to the two most stubborn and strong-willed people he knew and left them alone.  
  
Geralt, who had never been a deep sleeper, awoke a few hours later from the feeling of a hand on his forehead, which was felt on his wrist a little later. The burning pain in his side had given way to a kind of dull background noise, for which he was very grateful. But instead there was now something heavy on his chest, and he opened his eyes. Regis stood above him and seemed both amused and a little helpless at the same time. When Geralt lowered his head it became clear why.   
"Oh", he murmured. Emhyr had obviously fallen asleep on him, his head lying on Geralt’s chest, the rest of him hanging strangely twisted half in and half in front of the bed.  
"That looks uncomfortable."   
"Indeed," Regis replied with a suppressed giggle.   
"I'm glad you're enjoying yourself, Regis. But I must tell you, I have to pee, and I could use a little help here."   
"Of course, sure", Regis replied. "Once I figure out how to get the Emperor of Nilfgaard off you without waking him up."   
He finally managed to free Geralt from his beloved with superhuman skill without waking him. Afterwards he helped Geralt up, which proved to be the almost more difficult task, because firm will or not, Geralt could hardly stand. The steps to the inside alcove with the privy behind a door at the end of the room seemed endless. When that was done, Geralt was bathed in sweat and for the way back he leaned on Regis much more than before. 

"I could have helped you with this, you know," Emhyr was heard to say when they returned. He sat in front of the bed now, with his back leaning against it, and seemed to stretch out his aching legs. "You've been sleeping, and I can pee just by myself, thank you very much", Geralt replied. „Probably, but there seems to be a hitch in the walking, my dear“, Emhyr returned. Geralt grinned broadly and Emhyr smiled for the first time in many hours. 

At that very moment, the window on the opposite side of the room broke with an enormous crash, and splinters flew everywhere in the room while a figure jumped through the opening. In the blink of an eye, much faster than it seemed possible, a dark-robed intruder, masked with a piece of cloth that seemed ridiculous in retrospect, reached for Geralt. He tore him from Regis’ supporting grip with astonishing strength, dragged him to the vicinity of the window, a distance away from the others present in the room and pressed on Geralt's throat with his forearm. Geralt's left hand shot up to repel the assailant, but he pressed even harder until Geralt ran out of air. Emhyr had pushed himself up from the floor and was now standing upright. He might still be dishevelled from his sleep and had been in the same clothes for hours, but at that moment he was once again completely the Emperor, when he shouted in a commanding voice: „Stop!“  
Regis, on the other hand, had claws out and was just waiting for an opportunity.   
"What do you want?" Emhyr asked, his voice colder and grimmer than ever.   
"Simple matter," came the answer. "Come with me, and I will let the witcher go."   
"Come with you where?" Emhyr replied questioning.   
"Emhyr, don’t," said Geralt sharply, whereupon the stranger pressed again, harder.   
"That shall not be your concern. Let's just say, there's someone who would like to meet you." Emhyr opened his mouth to answer, but at that moment Mikaela rushed through the door. The noise of the broken window had been heard a few rooms away. Margarita followed behind her. Given the situation in the room, both stopped for a moment to explore their options.

Geralt used this moment to give his attacker a surprising hook with his left hand right in the face. The right hand might have been his sword hand, but that did not mean that the left was untrained - that would have been a fatal mistake for a witcher. The man behind him flinched in surprise, but Geralt noticed very well that the blow seemed to bother him almost nothing. Instead, he too had probed the situation and had obviously come to the conclusion that a fight against this superiority was not worthwhile. With unbelievable strength he first tore Geralt up a few inches and then hurled him into the room towards the surprised sorceresses. The force swept Mikaela away and Geralt landed on the wall with a nasty crack. At the same time the mysterious attacker turned into dark smoke and fled out of the window. Regis exchanged a quick glance with Mikaela, who had already picked herself up again, and she nodded.   
"Follow him, I'll get Triss“, she shouted.  
But Triss didn't have to be fetched, she also came rushing into the room at that moment. Regis himself turned to smoke and followed the attacker - a fascinating sight for Emhyr who had never seen this before. However, he would have preferred not to see any of this at all. He rushed to Geralt, together with Triss, and helped him up. Jointly they brought him to the bed where he could sit down. 

"You stupid idiot," Emhyr ruled him. „Were you planning to kill yourself?"   
"And you?" Geralt returned between clenched teeth. "Surely you didn't seriously consider following this madman?"   
"Maybe you could argue later," Triss said in an irritated tone. "I want to take a look at that. The wound is bleeding again, congratulations."   
Nobody in the room had suspected that she was even capable of such cynism.  
"At least we know it was a vampire," Geralt said distractedly.   
"Indeed," said Regis behind them, who had suddenly reappeared. "But he was too fast, I couldn't follow his trail."   
"I could help you with that," Geralt said. Regis pointed at him with one of his long fingers and replied: "You, my friend, will now let me take off these bandages without complaining and nothing else."   
A moment later, he and Triss exchanged glances, and she said with a regretful tone of voice: "I'm afraid we'll have to repeat the treatment. It’s bleeding again. Not strong, but the fight didn't exactly promote healing.“ 

"No," Geralt said firmly.   
"Geralt..." Emhyr started, but he was interrupted.   
"No," Geralt repeated. There was not the usual stubbornness in his voice, it was something else. "I'm not gonna do that again. This is... it's too much," he said quietly, and whatever strength he had mobilized before had now clearly left him. Emhyr understood immediately. He turned around and fixed Mikaela.   
"When will the commander arrive in Wyzima?" he demanded to know. She thought for a moment.   
"Around tomorrow morning, I guess," she replied. Emhyr glanced at the window and realized that it was already late afternoon again. The night that had started with fireworks and ended so unhappily seemed far away, but in fact not even a day had passed.   
"Is it certain that the potions will not work?" he asked then.   
"We can't know that," Regis replied thoughtfully. "But we don't have any here either."   
"But we could have some tomorrow morning," Geralt said, who saw that Emhyr had understood him - as if he had guessed his thoughts.  
Mikaela, always the quick thinker, took up the idea.   
“Sure, as soon as we have news from the commander, I can open a portal and get the equipment," she offered. "If you really think it makes sense.“  
"Actually, I would prefer even an overdose - no offense, Triss."   
"None taken," the flame-haired sorceress replied gently. "I know it must have been hard. If you want, we can try it your way. But as long as we wait, I guess you'll be in pain. If I cast the spell again, the pain will be temporary and then it will subside.“  
Geralt shrugged.   
"I can handle it, but forgive me if I'm not completely convinced you can do the spell a second time in such a short time."   
At that moment Margarita let herself be heard.   
"We prepared another room. You can bring the witcher there. And you, Emperor, we need to talk." Emhyr looked at Geralt, who nodded to him. Regis helped Geralt up and took him outside, and Emhyr followed Margarita to her private office.


	10. Wait for an answer

— 9 —

I cannot say that I don’t care cause I’m aware  
Of everyone and everything they’re everywhere  
Don’t be a fool  
Stop spinning around  
You’re right it ain’t safe here  
Start using your brain, your brain

**Wait for an answer**

  
After listening to some impertinences in which the words Aretuza, sorceresses and protection had often been used, Emhyr had reminded Margarita of the fragile power structure in the country where Nilfgaard currently had the upper hand. He was well aware that his own magical support also came mainly from Aretuza - magicians like those from Ban Ard had very rarely been involved with rulers and generally stayed away from politics, while sorceresses usually served a kingdom. But this symbiosis had always been risky, and something like under Radovid should never happen again. Margarita knew that, and she had to avoid Emhyr reminding her again of what she owed to his influence. Emhyr knew that, too, of course. It was a sort of diplomatic dance. That’s why he calmly endured her tirades and even condescended to apologize for the confusion that his - and Geralt's - presence had caused. 

"All I ask is that you do not take your anger out on my court sorceress," he finally said.   
"Why would I?" Margarita asked with eyebrows raised.   
"It was her original plan to choose Aretuza as a refuge in case of an attack on the palace, and you negotiated with her about it," Emhyr reminded her.   
"And I agreed to this plan, didn't I? I was merely trying to remind you that Aretuza is truly not the place to be for any plot to assassinate you or the witcher."   
"Duly noted," Emhyr replied. "We will return to Wyzima as soon as possible - as soon as the palace is safe again, that is."

Then they led him into the new room that had been assigned to Geralt - and Emhyr himself, as he had requested, because he would not leave him alone again now. Their relationship was no secret anyway, and Emhyr would probably have slept on the stone floor in front of Geralt's bed right now, if he had to, as long as he could be sure that he would be safe. Outside the entrance to the sleeping chamber, Regis was waiting for him.  
"I changed the bandages, he should really rest now - the few hours of sleep he had were not enough," he said.   
"I would have expected him to be asleep by now," Emhyr said.  
In a gesture typical for him, Regis tapped his nose and replied smiling: "I guess we have that in common - neither of us sleep very much. It's going to be a long night, maybe you can talk some sense into him."   
Emhyr snorted. Then he grabbed Regis by the shoulder and said gently, "Thank you. I really appreciate your help." Regis just nodded and assured him that he would stay as long as his services as a doctor were needed, before he retired. He was barely out of the door when Mikaela entered the room and declared that she would stay in the anteroom for safety. Emhyr briefly discussed some possible attack plans, but they were actually convinced that they were safe for the time being. 

"It was quite an adventurous plan to invade Aretuza of all places - all alone“, Mikaela said. „Even for a higher vampire.“   
"I don't think he expected us to have a vampire on our side as well," Emhyr said thoughtfully.   
"Or a larger band of sorceresses. It's not exactly common knowledge that Aretuza resumed operations last year."   
"Margarita has not yet resumed any new students," said Mikaela. "She has only resurrected a few old contacts and brought in some girls who hadn't finished their education... …of those that had survived, of course. That wasn't exactly made a big deal, so there's not that much to know.“   
Emhyr nodded, suddenly feeling tired.   
"We'll look into it. We will also have to consider what my guards had to do with this - apart from their obvious betrayal, as a matter of course. And we need to know who else is involved. But now, if you'll excuse me. I want to check on Geralt."   
"A little sleep wouldn't be bad for you either, Emhyr," Mikaela said softly.   
"I have been sleeping", he replied.   
"From what I heard, it wasn't very long. We are expecting the commandant's message in the early morning. You should be well rested for that."   
Emhyr raised his eyebrows. "You stretch the duties of an imperial court sorceress quite far," he said, but she heard by his mocking tone that he was not really angry.   
"That happens," she said with a smile and said goodbye. 

Geralt actually did not sleep. He sat on the bed, his back leaning against the wall, meditating - the only difference to his usual posture being that his legs were stretched out. Emhyr approached him quietly, but Geralt had heard him of course and opened his eyes.   
"How did it go?" he asked. Emhyr just waved it away. He looked briefly at the window, behind which the sun was already setting again, and felt that the tiredness behind his eyes would soon take over. Then he suddenly wrinkled his nose and turned to Geralt again.  
"You really should finally take off those trousers. They're full of blood and start to smell."   
Geralt looked down in surprise.   
„Oh. I didn't notice. Didn't get a chance to... You'll have to help me.“   
"I will, and then you should sleep," said Emhyr.   
"Speak for yourself - you look tired," Geralt said said with a hint of worry in his voice, while he tried to strip the cloth together with Emhyr. It was not easy because of all the clotted blood on it.   
"An order... from Regis," puffed Emhyr when he finally managed to slip the glued, tight trouser legs over Geralt's ankles. He threw the garment away from him, disgusted.  
"I liked these pants," muttered Geralt. Emhyr hummed and threw one of the blankets provided beside the bed over Geralt's legs.  
"Lie down at last," he ordered, and for once the witcher obeyed, so that Emhyr was able to pull the blanket higher. He settled himself on the edge of the bed. Then he hesitated briefly. 

"Shall I send word to Cirilla?"   
Geralt stared at him in disbelief. "I am not dying, Emhyr. Leave her alone. She’s on her first own diplomatic mission as future Empress..."   
"... in which she must prove herself," Emhyr automatically completed his words, for they had discussed this topic several times before. They remained silent for a while. Emhyr didn't miss that Geralt put his hand on his injured side as if to support it, even though his face showed no sign of discomfort. He just needed to sleep really urgently. 

"She'll be furious when she finds out about this later," Emhyr finally said.   
"Of course," Geralt replied with a grin and closed his eyes. „She’ll shout at you."   
„She will shout at _me_?"   
"After she scolded me," Geralt said, suddenly back to serious again. "Because I let myself be fooled like a stupid rookie."   
Emhyr looked at him intently. "You know that's not true."   
Geralt cracked his eyes open again, and he looked at Emhyr in dead earnest.   
"Yes, it is. I should have seen the danger, but instead I literally ran into an open knife. That put you in danger, and that's irresponsible."

Emhy laid his head on its side and narrowed his eyes.  
“Do I now have to repeat what you said to me a only few hours ago?" he asked. "In any case, we will not resolve this matter if each of us sinks into his … feelings of guilt."   
"My mistakes can be fatal", Geralt contradicted fiercely.   
"Oh, and mine can't?" Emhyr raised his voice. "Stop it."   
Geralt looked at him closely.   
"Are you arguing with me?" he finally asked.   
Emhyr hesitated. "Yes, we are probably having a fight," he agreed calmly - almost as if he found the thought strange.   
"Good," Geralt said and closed his eyes again. Emhyr noticed the almost satisfied expression on his face.   
"Why is that good?" he wanted to know.   
"I was afraid it would be too harmonious," Geralt said with a fine smile. Emhyr rolled his eyes, sighed and stroked Geralt's hair, which still fell wildly into his face.   
"Make room," he demanded, and after he had laid down carefully next to Geralt and wrested a piece of the blanket from him, both of them fell asleep in no time.


	11. The aftermath

— 10 —

Questions that come again  
Should we be fighting at all

**The aftermath**

  
In the unequal struggle of exhaustion against pain, pain soon gained the upper hand again, and Geralt's sleep was short. The room in which he woke up was completely dark, but that was no obstacle for him, so he just lay still for a while, watching Emhyr's sleeping form. His face, as angular as it was attractive, was completely relaxed in his sleep. 

After a while it was clear that he would not find any more sleep. Meditation was an option, but there was no room for it in bed now. So Geralt tried to get up without waking Emhyr. Actually, getting up was the bigger problem, but somehow it worked. On a small table next to the bed there was another blanket, and he took it and wrapped it around him before he moved agonizingly slowly to the other side of the room, as far away from the window as possible. He leaned with his back against the wall and slowly lowered himself into a sitting position. After a short attempt to sit on his knees as usual, he discarded it again, because it almost felt as if something was about to bore itself into his side again. However, he managed to sit there with his knees drawn up and his hands supported on them. After he finally sat down, he had the fleeting thought that he would probably never be able to get up again. It felt frustrating as well as funny, he almost laughed. 

However, it could not be denied that the situation was not quite as funny. Someone wanted to get rid of either Emhyr or him - or maybe both. To this end, they had devised a plan that included both an intrusion into the palace and the involvement of at least one higher vampire. Quite an effort, but neither he nor Emhyr were easy targets. On the other hand, it would not necessarily require a magical weapon to kill the emperor. It certainly made it easier to dispose of Geralt for a while. But who had even known that he would be in the palace that night?

No matter how he turned it around, so far it didn't really make sense and it bugged him that he couldn't see through it. He was cold, the morning was still far off, the pain would not stop and it had probably been a stupid idea to sit down on the floor. But now he sat there and at least he had to try to stop thinking and meditate to find some peace. So he emptied his mind until nothing disturbed him and nothing mattered anymore, and he remained in this trance-like state until the morning.  


Someone shook his shoulder gently, and Emhyr woke up immediately. An Emperor could not afford the luxury of sleeping late any more than a witcher could - who, by the way, was no longer lying beside him, as Emhyr noticed shortly afterwards.   
Although the curtains were still drawn at the only window in the room and it was almost completely dark, he finally recognized Mikaela standing beside the bed.   
"We have news from the commander," she whispered.   
"I'm coming," he replied immediately. „Just give me a moment."   
She nodded and said, "I'll wait in the anteroom.“  
Emhyr swung his legs over the edge of the bed, searching for his shoes and ran his fingers through his hair. His eyes had now become accustomed to the darkness and he noticed Geralt, sitting on the opposite wall, in his meditating posture - only still not sitting on his knees, which would probably have been too painful. 

"You complained about my bloodied trousers, but you want to face an army commander in those clothes you've been wearing for more than 24 hours? Tsk."  
„I’d say there was a certain difference between your bloodstained rags and my appearance," Emhyr replied calmly. "Besides, there's very little I can do about it now."   
He was pleased with the tone Geralt struck. He had experienced it occasionally when he was hurt - though never that badly. He usually became sullen, closed off and distant when he was in pain. Emhyr didn't know what was different now, but he was thankful that he didn't have to worry about it so much - there would be enough things keeping him busy today. 

"Speaking of which... if you're sending someone to the palace - if it's safe - I could also use something to wear," Geralt said and pointed vaguely to his body, covered in some blanket.  
"Not on my account," said Emhyr casually, while he tried to fix what needed to be fixed on his own clothes to look at least somewhat imperial.  
"Emhyr!" Geralt seemed almost shocked by his lascivious undertone. Emhyr's lips curled into a light, mocking smile. When he stepped out the door, he would be Emperor for the rest of the day, with all the consequences. He probably only had this short moment alone with Geralt today.  
"You take advantage of my condition," Geralt complained grinning.  
„I’m afraid there’s no time for that. Speaking of that," Emhyr said while he slowly stood up, "How do you feel?  
Geralt shifted his weight slightly, supporting his right arm with his left hand, and looked at him with complete honesty.  
"It hurts," he replied. "It really hurts. The sooner I get my potions, the better."  
Emhyr looked at him in earnest.   
"I will see to it. You're really convinced they will help?"  
"With the pain, definitely. For the rest, we'll need more help. I've thought about this for some time - if we're going to track down this vampire, I won't be of much use. If I take the potion I'm thinking about, I'll probably be out of it for at least a day, maybe two.“  
"You think you'd be up and running faster if we had Merigold repeat the treatment? Even though you were against it?" Emhyr asked confused.  
"I didn't say that," Geralt replied patiently. "Yes, the pain had subsided after the spell. But at the same time, I had the feeling as if I had been … turned inside out. It was disgusting, and certainly not a state in which I felt like following the track of a higher vampire."  
He noticed Emhyr's worried look and made a defensive gesture.  
"Magic of this nature comes at a price. The pain of treatment was not the worst of it. The mind is a fragile thing, it can bring up memories you never wanted to recall again. That's the reason why I didn't want to walk this path again, my flame", Geralt closed softly.

The fact that he pronounced the nickname, which he used rarely and only in the most intimate moments, touched Emhyr deeply. He bent over a little and stretched out his hand to touch the witcher's cheek in a fleeting, yet tender and familiar gesture.  
"So what were you thinking about?" he asked.  
"I was thinking of asking another witcher for help."  
Emhyr blinked. "Which witcher?“  
Geralt shrugged his shoulders.   
"Well, where Eskel hangs out is not entirely clear. I haven't heard from him in a while. But Lambert has obviously taken a fancy to Keira Metz - he still seems to be with her. At least she would be a clue to ask about him and his support.“

Emhyr thought about it. It didn't seem like a bad idea, although of course he had to convince Margarita to let another stranger into Aretuza. But in the end, everything depended on whether the palace was safe again. He could change and reinforce the guards and bring Geralt there, so that Margarita would be rid of them soon. But the investigation regarding the vampire had to start here.

The door opened, and light from the vestibule illuminated the dark bedroom just enough to make Mikaela clearly visible in the door frame.   
"Emhyr, it's time," she said.   
Emhyr pushed his back into an upright position and rose to his full, quite impressive size, and Geralt realized that the Emperor was back. With a very small flaw.  
"The hair," Geralt muttered and pointed with a wiping movement at Emhyr's head.  
Emhyr gave him a last, fine smile and replied: „Surely there will be a mirror out there somewhere. By the way, how are you going to get back up?"   
Geralt raised his eyebrows. "I sat down even without your help, didn’t I? Now get out."


	12. Lightning strikes twice

— 11 —

And as I wait and I look for an answer  
To all the things going round in my head  
I ask myself could it be a disaster and when  
It’s maybe threatening to happen again

**Lightning strikes twice**

  
The information had been passed on via signal towers and now, through the sorceress Ravenna, did not necessarily come first hand, but it was unlikely that part of the message had been lost en route. Nevertheless, Emhyr looked at the image in the megascope in disbelief and repeated: "They are all dead?

Anya Ravenna, who once again seemed highly nervous, disappeared from the image for a moment as she bent over to the side and picked up some papers that were apparently lying on a desk next to her Megascope setup.   
"There were survivors, Your Imperial Highness. Apparently a child, the son of a... Cook? Probably hiding in a cupboard," she said as she studied the paper in her hands. "He had obviously visited his mother and helped her in the kitchen, but then fell asleep. That was probably the reason why they were still there shortly after midnight.“  
Too many details, Emhyr thought. But he did not say it.  
"Ah, and the equerry and his stable boy," she went on. 

"And the horses?“ Emhyr asked quickly, knowing very well that Geralt had put his Roach there. If Ravenna found the question strange, after she had just told him that almost all the staff of the palace present at the time of the attack had been killed, she didn't let it show. However, it was by no means the case that Emhyr took this news lightly.   
The only consolation was that because of the celebrations, very few staff had been present in the palace. There had also been only a reduced number of guards. 

"Is there any indication of the attackers?" he asked now.   
"The commander did not mention anything like that in his message," the sorceress replied flustered.  
"He did not?" Emhyr clenched his hands into fists. "Where is the commander now?"  
Ravenna blinked.  
"Well, he's still in the palace awaiting further orders," she said. _This is pointless,_ Emhyr thought and breathed out noisily. Ravenna flinched, so much could be seen even in her flickering image.   
"I will speak to him personally," he ended the conversation without another word of greeting and turned around. Margarita Laux-Antille, who had again been in the room with him, gave the young sorceress at the table a sign, and the crystals in the megascope flickered briefly before their light died and the image disappeared.   
"Do you really want to do this?" she asked him. "This information was all but useless. You still may not know if the palace is safe."  
"I already have a sorceress as advisor," Emhyr said sharply. "And, yes, apparently, I must convince myself of the safety of my own palace.“  
Margarita hesitated. "Mikaela was one of my best students," she then said. „But you should still consider having another..."  
"I do not want to bother you with this," Emhyr interrupted her. "Is Miss Merigold still here, or has she left Aretuza already?"  
"No, she is still here."  
"Then I will ask her to come with us. If that is your advice," he said in a more conciliatory tone. 

  
Triss could hardly hide her surprise when the Emperor visited her and asked her for her help again. It must have taken him quite some effort, because obviously he didn't like her - although it wasn't quite clear to her why. She herself had not shown any resentment towards Geralt, although she had been angry about the circumstances of their former breakup. The fact that he had broken up with Yennefer shortly after that had been no consolation to her. 

Maybe it was his general distrust of sorceresses - even though he had always known how to use them when he liked it. But Triss was not Yennefer, she was far from enjoying the moment when the emperor asked her for help or even considering refusing it. So she agreed to accompany him and his young sorceress to the palace to investigate the situation and guarantee his safety. However, she was not quite sure if she would be of much help in case of an emergency - the fact that even a vampire was involved in the matter had shaken her. Magic had its limits when it came to these beings. 

They reached the palace by teleportation shortly after the sun had risen completely. The commander was waiting for the Emperor in the entrance hall, he had apparently already been informed that he wanted to talk to him personally. He took position and said: "Your Imperial Highness, the palace is secured so far. Some members from the servants have already arrived, they asked if they ... uh, should clean up."   
"Of course not!" Emhyr barked at the commander. "The matter is still to be investigated. Besides, I still want the servants to be questioned."  
"All of them?" asked the commander with a nervous undertone.   
"All of them. I want to know where they were at the time of the attack."  
"With due respect, Your Majesty, this is a job for the city guards of Wyzima, not for the army..."  
"I hereby make it your task," Emhyr said coldly. "Where are the bodies?"  
"We have gathered them at one of the rear exits," the commander replied.   
"Was there no sign of the attackers?" Emhyr now wanted to know.  
The commander frowned.   
"Indeed not, Sire. That means that neither bodies nor survivors were found."  
Emhyr was now visibly seething with rage.  
"Anything else? Swords, other weapons?"  
The commander shook his head.   
"We brought the swords of the palace guards outside. No other weapons were there."  
"Is the witcher's sword still in the corridor where he lost it?"   
The commander seemed confused.  
"We have found no witcher's weapon, Your Majesty," he replied. "Neither would any of us have touched it."  
"A steel sword, bound glyphs in the blade, extraordinary design?" Emhyr eagerly pursued the matter. "The silver counterpart must still be in my bedchamber. These are weapons you could not fail to notice."  
The commander shook his head.   
"We have been in your rooms, Sire, we have been in every room of the palace. But there were no such weapons there."  
Furious, Emhyr turned and fixed the two sorceresses.  
"I want to see this for myself," he said. 

They climbed up the stairs and entered the corridor. The body of the palace guard who had attacked Geralt had already been taken away. Where Mikaela had opened the portals, there was still a large dried bloodstain visible. Not far from there, Geralt's sword should have been lying. Mikaela cast a quick spell and then said, "No signs of magic." 

"Where are your sleeping chambers?" Triss asked. "Let us look there."   
Emhyr pointed to the open door behind them and went ahead. After he crossed the hall, he stopped suddenly.   
"What's wrong?" Mikaela asked alarmed. Emhyr pointed wordlessly into the room.  
Triss frowned.  
"What should I see here?" she asked.   
"What you should see here, my dear Miss Merigold, is a sword, armor, saddlebags, if I'm not mistaken." Emhyr's voice was sharp as a tack.  
"...a complete witcher's equipment," she whispered.   
"Very much so."  
The commander had come up the stairs behind them and was now standing indecisively in the anteroom.   
"Can you explain this?" Emhyr addressed him.  
The man turned pale.   
"I know nothing of any... witcher's equipment," he replied. "My men did not touch anything that was not obviously among the bodies."  
"In this case we must assume that the attackers took everything“, Mikaela said in disbelief.  
Emhyr suddenly looked tired.  
"Can anyone tell me how to explain this to Geralt?"


	13. Blood brothers

— 12 —

When you think that we’ve used all our chances  
And the chance to make everything right  
Keep on making the same old mistakes  
Makes untipping the balance so easy

**Blood brothers**

  
It turned out that he didn't come up alone, of course, and Regis caught him soon after Emhyr left trying to pull himself up against the wall somehow. After Geralt had endured his friend's amused mockery, Regis helped him back to bed and forced one of his foul-smelling herbal brews on him. After that he must have fallen asleep, for when he opened his eyes the next time, the bright light of the high noon sun fell into the room, and a familiar figure in black armor sat on a chair beside the bed, on his knees a sword, wiping it slowly and thoughtfully with a cloth soaked in oil. The smell of camellia oil was unmistakable.

"Ah, Sleeping Beauty has woken up," Lambert's distinctive voice was heard - always a hint of mockery to the point of sarcasm in it.   
"But fortunately without a kiss from you," Geralt returned, brushed the unruly hair from his face with his hand and sat up carefully.  
"You have no idea what you're missing," splashed Lambert.  
"I would never take away Keira's dream prince," Geralt said with a grin. Then he stretched out his arm, and Lambert grabbed him in a silent, warm greeting from his old brother in arms.  
"By the way, did you bring her with you?"  
Lambert shrugged his shoulders.   
"Oh, you know her. She was muttering about salty sea air, which is bad for her _complexion_ or something. if you ask me, I think it's this place. I had a feeling she absolutely wouldn't want to come here."  
Geralt tilted his head and looked at Lambert closely. 

"You seem to be getting along well. I really never expected you to voluntarily engage with a sorceress."  
"... says the guy fucking the emperor of Nilfgaard," returned Lambert. "I always thought all your romantic involvements with sorceresses were somehow masochistic, but this beats everything."  
Geralt's laughter shook his body, and he reached for his side.  
"Don't ... make me ... laugh," he gasped, grinning.

Lambert became serious and pointed at him with his sword just before he put it aside.   
"No kidding, what have you gotten yourself into now?"   
"How much do you know?"   
Lambert raised one hand and counted on his fingers: "An attack on the palace, some kind of treason, a magic weapon and a higher vampire. Oh, I have one finger left - we'll use that for your stupidity. You presented the open flank to an opponent. Vesemir would have spanked you for that."  
Geralt pulled a face. "In my defense: I was dressed rather lightly. And an attack from the palace guards was hardly likely."  
"You think that's a defense?" Lambert raised his eyebrows.  
"Probably not", mumbled Geralt.  
  
"Anyway, I'm here to save your ass again."  
"Again? Do I need to remind you of a certain event back in…"  
Lambert raised his hands defensively.  
"Save it. We should focus on what happened and how we're going to fix this mess."  
Geralt looked at him seriously.  
"I appreciate it," he said softly.  
"Oh, you'll appreciate this a lot more soon, because from what I hear, you could use this," Lambert replied, leaned forward and started digging into some leather bags that lay at his feet. Finally, he came up again, a small vial with a yellow-golden liquid in his hand.   
"That, and a little Swallow, of course, and the world looks quite different again."  
"So somebody got my things," Geralt said, but Lambert shook his head with a strange expression on his face. "No, that's one of mine."  
Then he looked at the door, and Geralt followed his look in confusion. He didn't know if the door had been open all the time, but now it was, and Emhyr stood there, some clothes in his arms. Apparently they were some of his own. He himself was meanwhile dressed again in an appropriate imperial outfit. Geralt, who hadn't expected to see him at all today, looked at him surprised.

Lambert stood up, but Emhyr gestured to him to stay. He came closer, put the clothes on a chair in the corner and finally brought the unpleasant news. As expected, Geralt did not take it very well.  
"Disappeared? What exactly does disappeared mean?" he asked loudly, with a sharp tone of voice.   
"It means what I said," Emhyr replied calmly. "The swords, the armor, the rest of your belongings - there was nothing left."   
"Damn it!" Geralt cursed.  
He looked as if he'd like to smash something now. Emhyr couldn't blame him - for all he knew, the armor alone had cost him a fortune, and it had taken him a long time to afford it. The swords were a completely different matter once again. Witcher swords were rare, and losing them must feel like losing a part of your body. 

"We'll get it all back," Lambert said, and he actually sounded almost sympathetic. In fact, he was probably the only one who could feel what Geralt was feeling right now.   
"I am sure of it," said Emhyr and, turning to Geralt, "I must go back. Do what you have to do, and we'll talk when you're feeling better. In the meantime, your friend will begin the investigations."

Whether Lambert was disturbed by the commanding tone of the statement of the man who had just summoned him here a short while ago, he for once did not show. He kept silent about it, which Geralt was surprised but actually relieved to notice. Emhyr seemed to hesitate for a moment when he looked at Geralt, but then he only nodded to both of them as a gesture of farewell and disappeared through the door.   
  
"Your sweetheart really has a strange way of making a request," muttered Lambert after Emhyr's departure, and he left it at that.  
"Give me the clothes, and I'll show you where the second attack took place," Geralt said abruptly. Lambert frowned, but threw him the clothes Emhyr had left behind.   
"You sure? One of those mouse-faced adepts could..."  
"No, I want to go with you. As soon as I've found a way to get dressed," Geralt replied muffled as he tried to put on a shirt. Lambert rolled his eyes.   
"I didn't realize that I was hired as a nanny," he mocked before he got up to help Geralt. 

Geralt actually felt better when he was dressed, even if it wasn't his own clothes and they were far from his armor, which he didn't even want to think about, otherwise he would have just got angry again. However, since he refused to accept Lambert's help in walking, they made only slow progress. When they finally reached the room where the attack had taken place, they found all doors open. 

"Great, how many have trampled through here so far," Lambert complained. They crossed the anteroom. Fortunately, the bedroom was untouched - even the shards of the broken window were still on the floor. "Stay here," Lambert said, looking at Geralt's bare feet, and approached the window. He knelt down, examined the floor with sharp eyes, briefly stroked his finger over the dust, and then rose again. "I don't know if the trail hasn't gone cold by now," he said, opening what was left of the window. Geralt, supporting himself by the doorframe, issued a consenting murmur. 

"Regis couldn't follow him, he transformed and escaped through the window," he said.   
"And how am I supposed to follow a trail of smoke?" mumbled Lambert. "You realize that of the two of us you are the better tracker."  
"I'm glad you admit that," Geralt replied with raised eyebrows. "It's a bit hard for me to bend over, so would you please..." He pointed to the floor. Lambert shot him a glance, but knelt down again and examined the wall under the window more closely.   
"There's something here," he suddenly said. "No, stay there," he snapped at Geralt when he noticed that the man was about to start moving, probably purely instinctively. Then he focused on the wall again. 

"Blood", he said. "Not much more than a drop, but he must have cut himself when he jumped through the window.“  
"How can you be sure it's his blood?" Geralt remarked. "He pulled me halfway across the room, the wound started bleeding again afterwards."  
"No, that was later," Lambert claimed. "A few steps from the door, back there on the wall, there's more blood, I can see that from here. But the pattern is different. This is just a drop. Back there, those are the interlocking stains of what could be a fresh wound or a reopened wound. I assume he stepped into the room from here, pushed you away and you hit the wall."  
"That's right," Geralt said. "I'd say you're not such a bad tracker after all."  
"You bet your ass I am."   
"We were standing roughly there," Geralt said, pointing to a point in the room, a few steps from the window. Lambert moved in that direction and examined the wooden floorboards. "Yes, there's something here, too. But that's damn little," he finally said. Then he went back to the window he had opened recently, and stuck his head out. 

"Here's just the bare wall, we're pretty high up," his voice was now heard a little more muffled from outside. "If he didn't run straight down the wall, we won't find anything here."  
"No, he has evaporated into smoke", Geralt reminded him.   
Lambert retreated from the window, holding the frame in his hand for a moment - as if he had felt the impulse to close the window and then realized that there was not enough material left for that. He let go and shook his head.   
"Do vampires bleed further when they transform?" he asked.  
"I don't know," Geralt admitted. "Even if they did, we can hardly follow the trail over the air."  
"But your vampire friend might," Lambert said.  
"I don't know, it's possible," Geralt replied, his hand running frustrated through his hair. "We should get him."  
"I will do that", Lambert said. "Now I'll tuck you in nicely, then you take the decoction and we'll see.“

Geralt could not deny that he longed for the bed in the meantime, and let Lambert accompany him back to the other room without contradiction. Lambert made sure that he lay down. Then he sat down on the edge of the bed and asked: "Are you really sure you want to do this? This is pretty strong stuff."  
"Pretty strong is exactly what I need right now," Geralt said tiredly.   
"Well then…"

Lambert reached into the leather bag again and took out two potions. First, he handed Geralt the bottle with the yellow-golden liquid, which he downed with a wrinkled nose. The effect was immediate, as the veins in his face appeared dark with frightening speed. Lambert wordlessly handed him the potion Swallow, which Geralt also ingested. Almost immediately afterwards his eyes rolled back, his head sank to the side and he passed out.  
"See you tomorrow, my friend," Lambert murmured, patted Geralt's shoulder set off to leave the room and look for Geralt's vampire friend. 


	14. The thin line between love and hate

— 13 —

There’s a grey place between black and white  
But everyone does have the right to chose the path that he takes

**The thin line between love and hate**

  
If there was a rule for Lambert regarding dealing with higher vampires, it probably was: _"Just stay away from them"_. Lambert appreciated the uncomplicated contracts. As long as they were lucrative - only when were they ever? As long as they didn't involve anything more intelligent than, say, a Katakan, he was fine with that. To say that he didn't necessarily feel comfortable in the company of a higher vampire was therefore certainly an understatement. 

He found Regis in the library of Aretuza, a place that made it clear like no other in the academy that the glory of earlier days was far from being restored - the room was sadly small, most of the bookshelves not nearly full. Lambert had almost reached the door when two students rushed out with their eyes wide open, each with a thick tome wedged under their arms. They seemed in a hurry to get away from the vampire, and Lambert could not blame them. 

Said vampire stood at one of the shelves and seemed interested in leafing through a book. He looked up when Lambert came in and glanced at him with a curious look. He had only met the other witcher once before and only briefly, he knew him mainly from Geralt's tales. This was also true vice versa. For Lambert, the figure remained quite a mystery, resembling an eloquent middle-aged man with slightly greying temples, who emitted a strange smell of herbs. 

When Lambert hesitantly entered the library, Regis closed the book he had held in his hands and carefully put it back on the shelf in front of him. It even seemed as if he was studying the spine of the book once more to be sure that he was sorting it into the shelf correctly.

"How is my patient?" he asked.   
"We will know in a day or two," Lambert replied surly.   
"Ah, so he has actually decided to take the decoction," Regis said. "With side effects, I suppose?"   
"Of course, the potion is highly toxic. It's usually taken at the same time with a specific second one to counteract it. That's how we did it, nevertheless I suggest you check on him regularly. I would at least expect a fever, but it could be worse. “  
The vampire thoughtfully tapped his slender, long fingers together.   
"Interesting," he then said. "In what way does this second potion interact with the first?"  
"Well, usually..." Lambert began, but then interrupted himself and said grumpy: "Surely we are not here to discuss witcher potions."  
"Of course not, I apologize. Purely professional interest," replied Regis. If he felt the discomfort of the other witcher, he didn't show it. He found the man highly interesting. Regis knew that Lambert and Geralt had a kind of special bond, considering their common past, the circumstances of their growing up, and that Geralt appreciated him very much. But this witcher here... he radiated a kind of permanent, subliminal aggressiveness that seemed to have nothing to do with his profession. In any case, it was in sharp contrast to Geralt's general kindness - although one also had to know him better to discover this trait in him. Maybe this was the case with this one too, he thought. 

"Well, thank you for letting me know," Regis now said.   
"That's not really the reason why I'm here," Lambert replied disgruntled. "I found blood in the room where the attack took place. It is basically just a drop. We wondered if it might help us to trace the trail. So if this vampire has lost blood along the way..."  
"When he was in... his other form, you mean?"   
Lambert nodded.   
"No, I'm afraid that's not possible," Regis said in a regretful tone. "In this form, the human notions of something like a body are irrelevant. If it's really like you say and he was bleeding, it was over the moment he decided to transform. Perhaps a major injury would have made a difference, but even then the trail would have been lost in a short time.“  
"In short, we can forget about the track," Lambert said impatiently.   
Regis thoughtfully tapped his index finger on his nose.  
  
"Not necessarily", he then replied. "A drop of blood contains more information than one would suspect on the mere surface. There is a method of deducing from the blood who spilled it. At least, since we're talking about a vampire."  
"How does it work?" Lambert asked skeptically.  
"Well... it requires the blood of another vampire. A higher vampire, mind you, I mean, I've never heard of anyone using the lifeblood of one of my lesser kind..."  
"Get to the point," Lambert growled.  
" I apologise. So, blood of a higher vampire. That would be me, I daresay. And a laboratory, essentially, because the matter is primarily alchemical in nature. It should be equipped with some ingredients..."  
"Not quite sure if this sorceress academy has a lab, but well, that shouldn't be too difficult. What kind of ingredients?"  
"The only exotic thing is actually a drowner's tongue," Regis replied.  
Lambert sighed.  
"It should be easy to find. After all, this is an island. Probably many unhappy girls have thrown themselves off the cliffs here as well."  
"How... extremely dramatic," Regis murmured.  
"Whatever."   
Lambert turned to the door.  
"I'll take care of the drowner. It would be good if you could deal with the sorceresses about this laboratory.“  
"All right." Regis nodded to him and left the library. As he passed Lambert, there was that strange smell of herbs again. Lambert shook his head. He might not have had the same experience with vampires as Geralt had, but this one was quite peculiar anyway.   
_"Suits him,_ " Lambert thought and set off to find a drowner - and cut off his tongue.


	15. Different world

— 14 —  
  
I feel a little lost  
A little strange today

**Different world**

  
Geralt wakes up - almost two days later, but he doesn't know it yet - in a very familiar environment. He knows these walls, the furniture, even the smell, and above all the things that are scattered around the room, because no one lays a hand on them, because they are his own. He lies in his own bed in Corvo Bianco, and how the hell did he get here? His eyes wander across the room, but he is alone. His hand automatically moves to his right side, and when he lifts the blanket that covers him, he notices that he is wearing some of his own clothes and that the bandages are still there. If this is a dream, then it is a strange one, but it is not that he is not familiar with such things. It just doesn't feel like a dream. And now he notices that the pain is still there, but not so much anymore, it does not hinder him, it is bearable. He tries to move his right arm, and it's going much better - the control is not completely back, he notices as he opens and closes his hand a few times, checking it, but there is a certain progress. He rises, he sits up, and as that is no problem, he swings his legs out of bed and stands up, carefully, but steadily. Now voices are heard from the hall. He goes to the door, opens it and blinks briefly - it is bright in the room - and stops in the door frame. Even though he is now sure that this is not a dream, the sight he sees is still somehow surreal.

On the large table in the middle of the room there is a lot of food, and Lambert, boorish as ever, pokes around with a knife in a bunch of grapes. He sits, it is striking, as far away from Regis as possible, he lolls around on the chair in such a way that it would not be surprising if he put his feet on the table. Regis, on the other hand, is obviously engrossed in a lively conversation with B.B.. Geralts majordomo either knows nothing about the true nature of his guest, or he doesn't care - both are equally likely. And finally another person sits at the table, quietly, patiently watching the others, throwing in a word here and there. It is Triss, and perhaps that surprises him most.

Regis notices him first and greets him lively. He gets up, takes a step towards him as if he wanted to give him a hand, but Geralt waves him off and approaches the table.   
"You look better", Lambert grumbles, which means something like: It's good that you're awake, and Geralt appreciates that, and he feels the same way.   
B. B. wants to know if he needs anything, but he doesn't know that himself. Geralt hesitantly stops in front of the table, leans on a chair and asks: "What are we doing here?"  
Regis, who of course knows what this question actually means, is happy to fill in the gaps. Lambert rolls his eyes as the vampire in his extravagant way starts to explain.

  
Lambert hadn't exactly described the side effects of the potion in detail - " _I would at least expect a fever“_ was all he had merely said - but Regis had expected that there would be some. He had no comprehensive knowledge of witcher potions, but as an alchemist he could imagine enough. The fever had come and gone, but after almost a day something had begun that - as Lambert explained - was feared among witchers as "The Great Barf". Geralt thankfully did not remember it, but he had seen it often enough. Basically, it was just very loud and very disgusting. Regis didn't use the same words, but fortunately in this case he didn't go into too much detail. Lambert interjected that students who walked out in the corridor during this time began to run in horror when they passed his door. Regis gave him a stern look - "May I please continue?"  
Geralt would have thought that was an exaggeration if the next part of Regis' report had not followed - and it was just ridiculous. Margarita had finally made her way in, with some pale young sorceresses in tow, and had given them a lecture in the middle of the room. It was mainly about what happened to someone who had been harmed by magic, but then refused to use magic to mitigate the damage.

After he heard about that, Emhyr had had enough.  
He yelled at her, and this could be heard - Lambert claimed - over several floors. Regis thought it wasn't quite _that_ bad, but obviously the Emperor had made a decision afterwards. He thought Geralt was better off on his estate at the moment, with Regis' help and Lambert as protection - Geralt raised his eyebrows at these words, Lambert grinned - while Emhyr himself would return to the palace. The vineyard had its own laboratory, Regis could continue his investigation of the vampire’s blood there, and Geralt would have access to his alternative equipment if necessary.

"That doesn't make sense," Geralt said, "we still don't know who in the palace was involved in all this. So he is practically without protection."  
"The Emperor has withdrawn a small detachment of the army to secure the palace," now Triss was heard. "Besides, it is more difficult to attack two targets. If you were there with him, you would both be too vulnerable, considering the condition you were in. In addition, he asked me to stay in the palace for a while and to help Mikaela with the investigations. I was to return as soon as it was clear that you were feeling better."  
"He asked you?" Geralt asked with a strange undertone, and Lambert, who couldn't keep his mouth shut, mumbled: "More likely ordered."  
Geralt threw an angry look at him. To Triss he said: "Can I talk to you for a minute?"  
"Sure," she said and followed him outside. 

Touissaint already smelled of the approaching spring. Some of the winery's buildings were decorated with colourful ribbons - the end of the year celebrations had been only a few days ago, and holidays, like all traditions, were sacred in Touissaint.   
Geralt almost automatically threw a quick look at the stable.   
"Your horse is still in Wyzima," said Triss, who had noticed his glance. "I think she might have objected to a teleport." Geralt smiled thinly.  
"Geralt..." she started, but he raised his hand.   
"Triss, you know you don't have to get involved in this. And he certainly can't order you to."  
"You think so?" Triss said, smiling. Geralt made an uncomfortable face, but she misunderstood.  
"We should go back inside, it's cool and... you're not wearing shoes," she said in surprise.  
"Seems to have become a habit lately", he mumbled. "But wait", he then said. "Triss, I just want to make sure you're not doing this because... because you think..."  
"Because I think what?"  
Then, suddenly, she realized.  
"Oh, dear gods, Geralt! You think I'm helping you because I think I can win you back this way?“

Geralt just looked at her. Triss laughed. If there was a hint of bitterness in her laugh, at least she managed to cover it up cleverly.   
"Geralt," she said calmly then. "Even if I wanted to - and please consider that I've been through that - I don't think that would be entirely possible. The Emperor fought for you like a lion, he did everything to help you, he probably forfeited it forever with Margarita. Don't think I didn't see the way he looked at you, Geralt, when you weren't even conscious. I'm not saying this because I think he would use his power if he sensed any competition, but because I don't think he needed to. The man loves you so, so much, who would step in between?"  
Geralt remained silent and looked at her face intently.  
"So no," she finally said. "I'll help you because I want to. Maybe because I want to make up for the way I treated you after you... I just hope you're happy. You are my friend, and I want to help you. There's nothing wrong with that."  
"No", Geralt replied and gently reached for her hand. "No, it's not. Thank you - also for being my friend. And yes, I am happy."  
"That's good. We should really go inside now."  
Geralt nodded, and they entered the house again. 

"Have you made up now?" Lambert mocked.  
"Lambert," Geralt said warningly.   
"What?"  
At that moment, the characteristic sound of a portal opening could be heard outside. Everyone looked at each other with concern. Lambert jumped up, his weapons lying against the wall behind him, and he reached for his sword. Regis stood up more slowly, but no less alert.   
There was a knock at the door. 

  



	16. This storm

— 15 —  
Gather up, I’m the storm, I’ll bind you  
You’ll be the flame, I’m the spark

**This storm**

  
"I'm going," Lambert growled, sword raised, and made a move towards the door. Geralt held him back. "Intruders certainly don't knock."   
  
He opened the door.  
Mikaela stood outside and looked almost horrified when she saw him.   
  
"What's wrong?" he asked alarmed. "And why are you opening a portal outside?"  
"The protection spell," Triss replied, pushing past him. "Come inside, dear," she said, pulling Mikaela inside.   
"You put a protection spell on my house?" Geralt asked.  
"Just an additional security measure," Triss replied. Geralt turned to Mikaela again.   
"What happened? You looked like you saw a ghost."  
"I... just didn't expect you to be on your feet again," Mikaela defended herself.   
"I'm here to get Triss.“

Triss frowned.   
"So something really happened?"   
Mikaela looked at Geralt with a slightly nervous look and then replied: "There was an incident at the palace."  
"What's wrong?" he urged her.   
"Someone tried to shoot Emhyr with an arrow. But," she said quickly, as Geralt's face darkened, "they missed. He's all right, nothing happened. But that leaves us with one more problem, and we need Triss."  
"Who is with him now?" Geralt asked.   
"He has enough guards. We'll go back immediately, he'll be safe."  
"Obviously not!" Geralt said, now visibly angry. Then a thought occurred to him. "You weren't gonna tell me about this, were you?"  
"I thought you were still out, and Emhyr himself said not to worry you if you weren't. He wants you to recover."  
"I'll tell him myself what I think of what he wants," he said in a tense voice. "Right now. I'm going with you.“

"Geralt", Regis' voice was heard, "I don't think you..."  
"Yes, I will. You stay here - you keep working on this blood thing. Lambert, you stay too. Be ready if I need you.“  
„Sure you don't want me to go with you?" the other witcher reluctantly asked.  
"No, not this time."  
"And what about your equipment? We still don't know where it is, and you're not going to go dressed like that?"   
"You already noticed that I have a collection of armor and weapons here, Lambert?" Geralt asked impatiently. Lambert shrugged his shoulders. "Whatever you want... "  
Geralt was already in the process of plundering his armor and weapon stands. No one said anything, although everyone exchanged uneasy looks. But in this state it was pointless to argue with him - that much was clear to everyone.   
"Don't let yourself think of leaving without me," Geralt said to Triss and Mikaela with a glance and turned to the door of his bedroom. Then he slowed down, suddenly stopped and said sheepishly: "Lambert? I will need your help with this armor."  
Lambert snorted. "What was that about the nanny?"

  
He looked more like Geralt when he came back out of the room. Or, Regis thought, he almost looked like himself again. A bit sharp at the corners, maybe, still a bit worn by the blood loss and the strains of the last days. But clearly Geralt: in a light, dark coloured leather armor, two swords on his back, his unruly hair finally tied back together again.  
  
"Are you sure about this?" he asked anyway.   
"I'm okay enough," Geralt said curtly, but nodded to him briefly - the look was clearly meant to say: Don't worry.   
"I'll contact you as soon as I know what happened. Keep trying to decipher the blood. So far we still don't know anything."  
He turned to Mikaela and Triss.  
"I'm really not sure," Mikaela started, but Triss and Geralt shook their heads almost simultaneously.   
"Don't even try," said Triss.   
"You won't get into trouble," Geralt assured her.   
"I rather have the feeling that the emperor will get in trouble“, Mikaela murmured. Triss giggled and opened a portal. 

They landed in the entrance hall, scaring half a dozen servants almost to death and making sure the guards drew their weapons immediately. "Stop," one of them shouted as he recognized who had stepped through the portal. "Weapons down, it is the sorceresses. And the witcher.“  
"Where is the Emperor?“ Geralt growled.  
"He's in audience, meeting the nobles of Wyzima with their requests."  
"They'll have to wait," mumbled Geralt. Turning to Mikaela, he said, "Where did this attack take place?"   
"In the throne room, during the public hearings."  
"I'll meet you both there later. I want to talk to him alone first."

Most of the people in the room flinched when Geralt opened the door to the council chamber with verve. He squeezed past the protesting waiters, built himself up in front of the suddenly surprised Emhyr and said: "I want to talk. Right now."  
Emhyr did not even blink, and his face was yet again completely expressionless as he said to the man standing next to him, "The audiences are over. Send everyone away."  
"But Your Imperial Highness," wailed the fellow, balancing a pile of papers in his hand and pointing to the waiting people present. "These ladies and gentlemen are not yet... "  
"Send them away," Emhyr repeated, then took the witcher by the arm and led him out of the room with a quick step.   
  
He didn't say a word while he almost pushed him through the corridors. Geralt was so irritated that he couldn’t find any words either. They reached Emhyr's private chambers. To the guards outside his door he said, "I don't want to be disturbed by anyone.“  
The guards exchanged restless looks.  
„But the sorceress said..." one of them began.   
"You are under my authority. And I say: I do not wish to be disturbed," Emhyr said coldly.   
Then he pushed Geralt inside. 

Inside, they stopped, and Geralt looked at Emhyr and tried to evoke his previous anger again, but it was strangely difficult for him. Emhyr didn't say anything - he just grabbed him by the arms, pulled him close and suddenly kissed him fiercely. After a long time, breathing heavily, he parted from Geralt's lips and muttered, "I've missed you.“  
"I can tell," mumbled Geralt. "Listen, I was angry. I wanted to be angry at you. You kinda spoiled it."  
"I'm sorry," Emhyr whispered in his hair, kissed him again and pushed him around the room with one hand while fiddling with the other on the straps of his armor.  
"We'll talk about that later", Geralt said between kisses. „And be careful, I can’t afford to lose another set of swords.“ Emhyr growled in agreement. By now he had dragged him practically through his entire chambers, they had reached the bedroom. The breastplate had disappeared - Geralt vaguely remembered that that was exactly the reason why his other things had been scattered all over the room back then, a few days ago. Emhyr tugged at his shirt. When he got rid of that, too, he paused.  
"I don't want to hurt you," he said with a regretful look at Geralt's bandages.   
"You can never hurt me," Geralt replied with a fine smile, and with a movement so quick that Emhyr didn't even see it coming, he pushed him down onto the bed.  
  


  
Some time later, Geralt lay there, widespread on his belly, his hair a mess again, his legs somehow entangled with Emhyrs.   
"We really need to talk," he murmured into the pillows. "About who tried to shoot you?“  
Emhyr, lying on his side, just watched him, adored him, followed the trail of his scars with his eyes, obviously not quite willing to let the moment pass.  
"Emhyr..." Geralt insisted and turned to the side to look at him. It was the wrong side, a sharp pain briefly reminded him, and he winced and turned on his back.   
  
"Are you sure I didn't hurt you," Emhyr said softly.   
"No, I can manage that myself," Geralt returned. "Oh, don't look at me like that. That won't heal until we find the one who enchanted the weapon, that much we know. So let's not waste any more time."  
Emhyr leaned on one arm and said amusedly, "So you think this is a waste of time?"  
Geralt rolled his eyes. Emhyr sighed, obviously the moment had passed, and duty called.   
"So what happened?" Geralt wanted to know.  
  
"Not enough that you should worry about it," Emhyr replied. "Someone entered the palace, much too loud and completely alone, just some tattered guy without any talent for archery. He shot, he missed, end of story.“  
"How far did he get?"  
"Not very far, the guards saw to that."  
"And probably got rid of him before anyone could question him?"  
"No, he's in the dungeon."  
Geralt blew his hair out of his face and sat up.   
"Then we should make sure we question him."  
  
„Hmm." Emhyr looked at him sceptically. "I would rather suggest a bath, some food, sleep - in that order."  
As if on cue, Geralt's stomach growled.   
"Let's skip the sleep part," he said. "But the rest sounds good.“

When they later left the rooms, Mikaela and Triss met them on the way.   
"We were beginning to worry," said Triss. "We heard that Geralt practically dragged you out of the audience room. Or vice versa, depending on who you ask. We were worried you guys were at each other's throats."  
"We are both still in one piece," Emhyr replied curtly. "Besides, Geralt hadn't eaten for days."   
  
"In the meantime, we went to the dungeon and talked to the archer," Mikaela said.   
"We shouldn't discuss this here," Emhyr said and led them all to his study, not far from his other rooms. As soon as the door closed behind them, Mikaela continued, "This is not going to get us anywhere, he obviously has nothing to do with anything at all.“  
"And you conclude that from what?" Geralt asked.  
"The man belongs to a simple gang of bandits who have set up camp nearby. As much as we got out of him, these guys somehow got wind of the attack and probably thought they wanted to take advantage of the moment.“   
"All alone?" Geralt asked skeptically.   
"He was drunk, and the leader of his gang probably understood this as a kind of dare," Triss threw in.   
"Sounds stupid", Geralt said.  
"Maybe, but it just shows that we have to be careful," said Emhyr in a grim tone of voice. "Apparently, word has already gotten around that there has been a successful attack. That's what attracts imitators."  
"Who can't imagine that security measures will be tightened after this?"   
"That's not the point, Geralt. That blood was spilled in the palace is tantamount to a weakness that someone discovered and exploited. There's no war, no army invaded, it simply means I'm not untouchable."  
  
Geralt kept silent for a moment.  
"That's what Ciri has to expect?" he then asked quietly. "That she must never show weakness, no matter how she reigns? That she will never know who really stands by her side?"  
Emhyr looked at him for a long time.   
"You act as if you didn't know."  
"Maybe it's only now that it's really become clear to me."  
"In any case, there's one thing you're not right about. She'll know very well who's on her side," Emhyr said.   
"That's true," said Triss to soften the uneasy mood. "But we should focus on our other problems, and obviously the archer is not directly involved.“

"Soldiers will take care of this band of bandits," Emhyr said. "So if they obviously had nothing to do with the attack on the palace, who did?"  
Geralt, who in the meantime had sat down on the oversized desk in the room - if that was supposed to be symbolic, he thought it was exaggerated - thoughtfully propped his hands on his knees.   
  
"So there were absolutely no clues about the attackers?" he summed up.  
"No bodies, no weapons, no remains of any kind," Mikaela explained.   
"Did you check up on this yourself?"   
She looked at him critically.   
"Geralt, you know me well enough by now. Yes, I've been looking for magical signatures, everywhere. There were none."  
"And the soldiers should have trampled all other possible traces by now," he said thoughtfully. "We should have dealt with this earlier."  
"I think we were somehow busy elsewhere, given what has happened to you" Emhyr stated. "Besides, it seemed more promising to follow the vampire's trail."  
"Perhaps, only this is much more difficult. I'll have another look around anyway."  
"There are no more traces of blood," Emhyr interjected.  
"There are always traces of blood where blood has been spilled," Geralt said. "You just don't see them." 


	17. Straight through the mirror

— 16 —  
Is there any other way?  
I cannot hide it  
I have doubts

**Straight through the mirror  
  
**

Lambert was of course familiar with the nature of alchemy. It wasn't that this gave him any particular pleasure - it was hard to find out if there was anything that didn't make him constantly angry anyway - but mixing potions was a necessary part of his profession. However, he found it tiresome to watch the vampire filling vials, measuring ingredients and finally cutting a drowner's tongue - which didn't smell of violet anyway, but stank pitifully in this state - into tiny little pieces in a cellar in dim candlelight.   
  
He soon found the wine bottles in the cellar much more interesting than this procedure, and finally he went outside again to explore the winery. It was an at least _strange_ place, Lambert found. That was not quite the word he was looking for, but he didn't care. At least a vineyard was a rather stark contrast to Kaer Morhen. Even now, on a cloudy day, it was much brighter than in the north. Warmer, somehow, even in the winter. And the people were... sort of cheerful. Some of them even whistled songs while working, for god's sake. While he was still thinking about whether Keira would like it here (maybe too warm in summer, but she would probably enjoy the Duchess's court), Regis had appeared completely silent behind him. _Damn it,_ Lambert thought.

"Did it work?" he asked. Regis looked strangely thoughtful. Not that he didn't always seem pensive to Lambert.   
"Indeed," the vampire replied. "Not quite as I expected, though."  
"Which means?"   
"Well, my young friend" - Lambert shrugged at these words, but said nothing - "it seems to me that we are dealing with a vampire I know."  
"Is that good or bad?" Lambert asked, stunned.   
"A good question," Regis responded. "The astonishing thing is that the vampire in question lives in Maribor. Or lived."  
Lambert felt like scratching himself with a knife. Everywhere. The vampire was just too annoying.  
"And that's so interesting because...?" he wheezed.  
Regis tilted his head.   
"Well, assuming he still lives there - and I can assure you, we vampires don't generally appreciate moving - I would be interested to know why he came all the way to Aretuza."  
"He could have just flown there?" Lambert offered.  
"I'm interested in the _why_ , not the _how_ ," Regis said. "And if he had just ‚flown‘ there, as you so eloquently put it, it would have taken him at least a day, I suppose.“  
Lambert frowned.  
„You’re saying he must have known that the Emperor and Geralt would be there - even before they left?"  
"Unless he used a portal to get there, yes," Regis concluded. "And vampires rarely do that. At least on their own.“

"So, let me get this straight: Someone organized an attack on the Emperor's palace, planted a magical weapon there beforehand, knew that the two of them would be in Aretuza afterwards, and therefore brought a vampire near the academy beforehand in order to attack there again?"  
"Brilliant deduction," Regis said. "I think the sole purpose of the magic dagger was to ensure that Geralt would be present in Aretuza as well."  
"Which means the attack was actually meant for him, not the Emperor. But that could have been achieved more easily - witchers are alone on the path most of the time."  
"That's why _I_ still think it's about the Emperor," Regis said. "The assailant on Aretuza threatened Geralt to make the Emperor follow him. But he didn't count on who was with him."  
"I still think it's crazy to attack a place full of sorceresses," Lambert grumbled.   
"After all, there were no sorceresses in the room at the time."  
"But a vampire, from what I heard. Shouldn’t he have sensed you?“  
"Correct, but that is negligible to some extent. All higher vampires have an understanding when it comes to harming one another.“  
Lambert decided it would be better not to go into this.   
"Now, what could possibly induce a vampire to join such a plot?" he demanded to know. Regis pointed his finger at him appreciatively. "That is exactly the right question, my dear witcher.“

Lambert waited, but since Regis was obviously a man of dramatic pauses, he asked impatiently: "And is there an answer to that too?“  
The vampire now seemed almost alarmed to Lambert when he replied, "No, I fear not.“  
"Maybe we should focus on something else," Lambert said, "maybe we're getting too attached to this vampire and I think there’s something we’re missing here. Can’t think straight right now.“   
"Distraction to stimulate the synapses in the brain?" Regis took up the idea. "An interesting idea."  
"I might not have put it like that. But I don't mind. I mean, this is a vineyard, and the cellar is filled to capacity."  
"Oh, the drinking kind of distraction?" Regis looked at Lambert with renewed interest, although Lambert found this look rather uncomfortable. Especially when he had emphasized drinking. Geralt could say what he liked, but the very idea of a sober vampire seemed ridiculous to Lambert. In any case, he found it better to go back into the house - but not without taking a few more bottles from the cellar with him.   
Over the next half hour or so, Lambert endured with stoic patience a lesson on Erveluce and other wines from Touissaint (and a confused detour about herbal brandies) for which he was not reasonably drunk enough. But he was only half listening, he was lost in his own thoughts. There was one thing he kept stumbling over.  
  
Who could have even known that Aretuza was the emperor's place of refuge during an attack on the palace? Apparently Lambert had thought aloud, because Regis placed the bottle he had held in his hand roughly on the table.   
"That seems the key question," he said. "And it should be easy to answer," he went on, raised one hand and counted on his fingers. "The Emperor, his court enchantress, then of course Margarita Laux-Antille..."   
"...and all of the students?" Lambert suggested. Regis shook his head.   
"Certainly not. It is inevitable that they would learn of the Emperor's arrival, but Margarita would hardly have shared the true nature of the Emperor's sudden appearance with all her protégés."  
"Which brings us back to Margarita herself - or the court sorceress," Lambert said, clenching his fist on the table.   
Regis tapped the wine bottle thoughtfully with his long fingers.  
"She seems extremely trustworthy to me."  
"I'm sure the emperor thought the same of his palace guards," Lambert said dryly.   
"She's friends with Geralt," Regis threw in.  
"Friendship has never stopped anyone from betraying someone," Lambert replied. The slightly bitter tone in his voice astonished Regis, but it was not the right moment - and he was probably not the right person - to deepen the subject.  
"So far, it is only a very vague suspicion," he remarked. „And I believe you are right, we are still missing something here. But we cannot ignore it."  
"No," Lambert said. "We must tell Geralt about it."

—

  
  
The palace was still full of people. It was business as usual, except that there were considerably more soldiers present than usual. It was not exactly ideal for searching for traces that were already a few days old - while most people were staring at him anyway and were more or less quietly wondering about the presence of a witcher in the imperial palace, the soldiers were looking at him with much more suspicion. At least they didn't hinder Geralt, apparently Emhyr had taken care of that. So fucking the emperor truly had its advantages, he thought amused - actually surprised (and somehow relieved) by the fact that this was the first time this thought came to his mind.   
  
Nevertheless, he gained confused, curious and sometimes perhaps hostile looks as he searched around here and there, carefully studying walls and columns and looking at the floor like someone who had lost something. Following footprints was hopeless, too much time had passed and too many people had walked around here in the meantime. Even the bodies that had been deposited in a part of the backyard had disappeared in the meantime. It might have been helpful to find out exactly what had killed the people, but there was no way to do that. The thought of all these senseless deaths made him angry. It didn't make sense, except that someone must have wanted to cause maximum harm. Those had been Emhyr's people, only some of them soldiers or guards, and even if he didn't necessarily show it publicly, he was not indifferent. It had, of course, not exactly been conducive to his reputation that he arranged for the few survivors as well as those servants who had not been in the palace during the night to be questioned in detail. These interrogations had been inconclusive - the child had not, as had been assumed, hidden in the cupboard, but had actually slept through everything, and the stable master and his lad had been lying in the stable completely drunk. Those who were not present that night claimed to know nothing about anything, and no one could prove otherwise. In any case, none of them had had any closer connection to the guards who had attacked Geralt.

The weapons of the palace guards were still lying in the courtyard, a sad little pile of swords neatly laid out on a roughly timbered table, which apparently served as a kind of workbench. The sword sheaths were lying beneath the table. If there had been any more equipment, it had disappeared - to where remained unclear, but it was not very important. They were ordinary swords, as used by the Nilfgaardians. All were unusually clean, almost perfect examples of their former wearers having read a copy of "Care for your sword, soldier". Either they had been cleaned by someone after the fight - which Geralt thought unlikely - or they had simply not been used. Had they even got the chance to draw their swords, to fend off an attack? If not, their attackers must have been unusually fast. 

At that moment he saw a short glint out of the corner of his eye, clearly not a consequence of a possible incidence of light from the rather dull sun on one of the blades. Geralt bent closer over the swords, took off the glove of the left hand - the right one was still not quite trustworthy - and carefully stroked over a crack in the wood of the table. When he pulled back his finger and held it close to his eyes to look at it, there was nothing but dust. But it was no ordinary dust. It was diamond dust, no more than two grains, but unmistakable - at least to a witcher.   
There were some creatures that dissolved into dust after they died, even diamond dust. Geralt thought ghosts were the most likely - it would explain why he hadn't found any actual traces of battle anywhere, no evidence that those present in the palace had fought back. It would hardly have been possible for them. What he had heard that night had probably been highly one-sided. It was not a nice imagination. 

The fact that some dust was found did not mean that someone had succeeded in harming one of the spirits - in any case, silver swords certainly did not belong to the equipment of Nilfgaard soldiers. So it had to mean that the ghosts had been destroyed by someone else. Geralt looked down thoughtfully at the tiny dust particles on his finger. Magic was the most obvious solution. But Mikaela had claimed to have found no magical signatures. He needed to talk to her.  



	18. Treason

— 17 —  
Let the earth move for a while  
We’re defying gravity  
  
**Treason  
  
**

Geralt found them all remaining in the study, although Emhyr was almost on his way through the door - he had indeed wasted time in some way. Even when he was dealing with important matters, there were still more pressing issues that demanded his attention - or at least it seemed that way. He stopped when Geralt came in.  
"You found something," he said. It was not a question, he knew that look on Geralt’s face. Triss and Mikaela, who had just been engrossed in a conversation, looked at him expectantly. 

"I did," Geralt said. "Do you recognize this?"   
It appeared a bit strange when he practically shoved his finger in the faces of the two sorceresses, but what there was to see was very small.  
"Geralt, you realize that we are not blessed with your senses," Mikaela said sceptically. Triss, however, had narrowed her eyes, bent over his hand and muttered "Dust - diamond dust?“   
Mikaela said, "What?" and tried to see what Triss saw.   
Emhyr had stepped behind Geralt and did not bother to do the same as the sorceresses.   
  
"You came back with dust," he said unimpressed and with a certain skepticism in his voice.   
"Not just any dust," Triss replied. "This is a deposit left by ethereal beings."  
"Spirits? What does that have to do with anything?" Emhyr asked, running out of patience.   
Geralt turned around, wiped his hand with the now no longer needed dust on his trousers before he put the glove back on, and explained: "The palace was attacked by spirits. Or, more precisely, the attack was carried out by ghosts.“

"By _ghosts_."   
Geralt would've laughed at the look on Emhyr’s face - if there was anything funny about it.   
"You're telling me an army of ghosts invaded here, killed all my people out of sheer lust for murder, or whatever, to come after us?"  
"Well, you see, I think that's the point. The _spirits_ weren't after us at all."  
"I don't follow," said Emhyr, and his impatience indicated many, long audiences with supplicants who didn't come straight to the point.  
"What Geralt is trying to say," Triss interjected, "is that someone was using them. Summoned them, obviously."  
"For what purpose? Apparently there are enough stupid bandits lurking around the place, why would someone summon spirits to attack the palace?"  
"They follow orders exactly, don't ask questions and in the end they disappear without a trace", Geralt said sarcastically. "You're asking the wrong question. _Who_ has done this?"  
"A mage, a sorceress - a person skilled in magic," Triss answered, nodding.  
"Exactly," Geralt replied. "But that kind of magic has to leave its mark."  
He looked at Mikaela, who appeared confused.   
"I don't know if..." she started, but Triss suddenly winced and said, "Wait." 

She started digging around in her pockets and finally pulled out a small, round artifact. Geralt recognized it immediately: it was a xenogloss. Triss withdrew into a corner of the room, away from the others, and spoke into the device: "What? You have to talk slower."  
"What is she doing?" Emhyr asked.  
"It's a communication device," Mikaela intervened. "Sound only, unlike the Megascope. Very practical, but not easy to get at. She told me that she had left one at Corvo Bianco just as a precaution.“   
"Step aside," Triss said now, after she had rejoined them, and secured a little more space for a moment to open a portal in the room.  
"Triss?" Geralt asked confused.  
"One moment... Lambert wanted me to bring him and Regis here immediately, he said it was urgent and that you may be in danger."  
"What?"   
"This portal traveling is becoming a habit," mumbled Emhyr.  
"It's not that I like it," Geralt muttered back.  
  
Regis and Lambert entered through the portal, and when Lambert noticed who else was in the room, he drew his sword in the blink of an eye.   
"Lambert, what the hell…“, Geralt shouted in disbelief.  
"She", Lambert said, directing the sword at Mikaela, "may not be quite what you think.“

"Excuse me?" the sorceress indignantly exclaimed.   
"There were only a handful of people who knew about Aretuza," Lambert explained, addressing Geralt and Emhyr, while still threateningly pointing the sword at Mikaela.   
"What are you doing?" Emhyr asked angrily.   
Geralt raised his hand and said: "Wait. He has a point. Besides, how could you have missed that spirits had been conjured here?“

He didn't want to doubt her, he really didn't. But ever since he found that dust, the question had become pressing: Why had she said she hadn't found any magical signatures?   
"What ghosts?" Lambert and Regis asked almost unanimously.   
Mikaela seemed completely confused - and anything but a danger. Triss said softly, "Mikaela, dear, you _have_ been searching for magical signatures, haven't you?"  
  
"Of course," replied the young sorceress enraged. She was visibly shaken. Regis, although a few steps away from her, could literally _feel_ her blood pressure rise - a very strange feeling, not entirely unusual for him to experience, but it came with a strange undertone. Her blood was almost too loud in his ears, although he wasn't even paying much attention to it. Something was wrong.  
"Get down!" he yelled, and at the same time he pounced upon the completely surprised Triss, who was standing almost directly beside him. He dragged her to the ground and covered her with his body. Not a second too soon, because from that moment on total chaos broke out. 

The whole room began to shake, and at an unlikely speed, objects began to fly around in complete chaos. Cracks appeared on the walls, the ceiling creaked menacingly, the oversized desk rose and crashed down bursting. Lambert had leaned on one knee almost directly at Regis' words and erected a protective shield above himself. Emhyr, facing Geralt, brought him down spontaneously with a swing of his elbow, while Geralt at the same time casted _Quen_ over them both.

A heavy shelf bounced off it and the shield died a few seconds later. Shit, Geralt thought, and he turned quickly, while Emhyr was still on top of him - now he lay underneath him, shielded by Geralt's body.

A crack in the outer wall grew bigger and bigger, and then the wall collapsed halfway down, and a violent cloud of stone-filled dust buried them all beneath it. 


	19. Treason (Reprise)

— 18 —  
  
Don’t let them  
Put a spell on you  
  
**Treason** (Reprise)  
  


After dust, dirt and debris had settled over them, it was quiet in the destroyed room. From the outside shouts, screams and hectic orders could be heard.   
Regis was the first to rise again. He made sure Triss was all right and helped her up, dusted off his clothes and pulled a piece of stray wood from his body. He refrained from commenting on the obvious analogy of staking a vampire and instead asked, "Is everyone okay?“

Geralt had closed his eyes to protect them from all the dust and dirt. He finally opened them and looked directly into Emhyr's deep, brown eyes below him. He couldn't help but smile.  
"The witcher protects the Emperor, not the other way around," Geralt said. His voice sounded somehow strange.   
"Oh really, have I no say in this?" Emhyr mocked him softly.  
„Not in this matter.“  
„Do you really want to argue about this right now?“  
"Sweet, those two lovebirds are flirting, I'm getting sick," Lambert growled. His shield had miraculously been hit only by tiny stones and dust, and just now it was disintegrating as he slowly rose.   
"Geralt, your nose is bleeding," said Emhyr. "And would you please get up? You're awfully heavy in that armor.“

Geralt stood up carefully, offered Emhyr his hand to pull him up, too, and then touched his face.   
"You broke my nose with your elbow," he said muffled - and astounded.   
Lambert snorted amused.  
Regis came closer and said: "Let me see. Indeed, it's broken. Well, maybe we should spread the word in the palace, it wouldn't be bad for Your Majesty’s reputation..."  
Lambert's snort turned into an open laugh for which Geralt looked at him pissed.   
"Let me just briefly..." Regis started, while he put his fingers on Geralt's face, but Geralt flinched.   
"It'll heal in a minute, no need to … DAMN FUCK, REGIS!" he yelled after Regis had moved the nasal bone back into its proper position with a somewhat cracking sound.   
"I know," he replied gently. "But you don't want it to grow together crooked."  
"That would harm your beauty," Lambert giggled.   
Geralt looked like he wanted to slap him, but he kept his mouth shut.   
„I’m sorry," Emhyr muttered, as Regis and Lambert turned away to look around the room.  
"Actually, you hurt my pride most of all,“ Geralt mumbled back and smiled at him wryly.  
"Where's Mikaela?" Triss suddenly became audible. She sounded as if she feared the other sorceress had mysteriously disappeared. But she had not, as they soon discovered: Mikaela lay unconscious under a pile of rubble on the back wall, near the destroyed part. Triss rushed to her and shouted, "Somebody help me!"   
  
Lambert and Regis were the quickest to get to her and carefully removed wood, stone and other rubbish. "She's still breathing," Regis said, and after a quick examination he added: "I don't think she's hurt too badly, but we should get her out of here.“  
"What happened here anyway?" Emhyr asked.  
"We should discuss this later," Geralt replied. In the meantime, the noises from outside had become louder. Someone was hammering at the door and tried to push it open from the outside, but it was blocked from the inside.  
"Lambert, give me a hand," Geralt shouted, and together they pushed the obstacle - a shelf that had explosively unloaded several dozen books into the room - aside. The door was opened violently, and the commander of the palace guards climbed over the rubble into the room.   
"Your Imperial Highness. Is everything alright?" he asked.   
"Obviously not," Emhyr replied unnerved and took a look around his - now probably former - study.   
"Please help to bring the court sorceress to her room“, he then said. „Post two guards outside the door. This man here will accompany you, he’s a doctor. And... Miss Merigold, would you…“  
  
Triss nodded.  
"I will find out what happened," she promised.  
Emhyr now turned to Lambert.  
"I want to hear what you have found out," he said. "But perhaps in a slightly different setting. Let's go to the audience chamber. It should be empty now."  
"Sire, shall guards accompany you?" the commander threw in.   
"I have two witchers with me, that should be enough," the Emperor replied with an undertone, possibly implying that at the moment he preferred to rely on those same witchers rather than on the palace guards staffed with soldiers.

The unconscious sorceress was carried out carefully, accompanied by Regis and Triss. Emhyr's gaze fell on Geralt, who was leaning against the wall near the door. He had pressed his left hand to his side. The adrenaline rush of the previous minutes had disappeared, his face seemed tense.  
"Geralt?"   
He reacted with a slight delay, as if he hadn't immediately realized that Emhyr had spoken to him. Then he pushed himself off the wall and just said, "Let's go."  
Lambert frowned at him, stepped beside him and said, after a quick glance: "You're bleeding again."  
"We have other problems right now. Let's go," Geralt repeated and left the room without looking at Emhyr or Lambert. The two exchanged glances.   
"He's in pain," Lambert said quietly.   
"All the more reason to hurry," Emhyr replied, trying not to let the concern in his voice become too obvious.

Geralt knew the way, and they followed him silently through the palace, Lambert a bit behind the emperor, so that he walked between the witchers. The palace was teeming with nervous courts, nobles, citizens and soldiers who tried to keep order. Most people fell silent at the sight of the Emperor in his strange entourage of fierce monster hunters.

The audience room was indeed empty. Lambert closed the door after a last, searching look outside. Out of pure habit, Emhyr took a seat on the slightly elevated chair at the end of the room. Lambert raised his brows, but said nothing. He preferred to stand, while Geralt kept wandering around the room in a state of unaccustomed agitation.

"Now, can anyone explain what just happened?" Emhyr inquired. "You showed up with some accusations, and after that I have a hole in the wall."  
"That's not my fault," Lambert grumbled. "I don't know anything about that either. But Regis thinks he might know the vampire who appeared in Aretuza, possibly an old acquaintance living in Maribor."  
"That's a damn long way off", Geralt intervened.  
"Exactly. That's why he thinks the vampire knew you were going to Aretuza before, maybe because he was sent there specifically."  
"By someone who knew that was the backup plan," said Emhyr thoughtfully.  
  
"And you thought it had to be Mikaela?" Geralt sounded skeptical.   
"There ain't so damn many choices," Lambert replied. "And apart from that, you yourself obviously had doubts - at least you were babbling something about ghosts and a magic trace."  
"And what tells us that this... ghosts... were summoned in every case?“ Emhyr asked.  
"What ghosts anyway?" Lambert asked impatiently.  
Geralt sighed. "I found diamond dust," he said. "There is no other evidence of the attackers.“  
"But who would... all right," Lambert said quickly when he saw the look on Geralt's face. Apparently, they'd already been through all that.  
  
"Well, if there were ghosts, they must have been conjured, otherwise they wouldn't have just disappeared again. Besides, it's not exactly ghostly to get together and develop the idea of attacking a palace," he summed up.  
"But you are not saying that my sorceress has summoned an army of spirits?"   
"Mikaela is good, but not that good"; Geralt replied, "and that's not exactly the kind of magic that is taught in Aretuza."

"It is possible, however, that she knew about the attack and told someone about the emergency plan," Lambert explained.   
"You accuse the court sorceress of treason," said Emhyr with a piercing cold in his voice.  
Geralt briefly put a hand on Emhyr's right arm and explained, "There is still the question why she claimed she hadn't found any magical traces. An incantation of this kind always leaves a signature.“  
"Well, I hope we can still question her on this," Emhyr said briefly. 

For a moment they remained silent.  
"But something about it doesn't quite fit", Geralt finally said. "An army of ghosts hardly took my swords and everything else."  
"If those spirits were conjured, as you think, would that person have had to be present then?" Emhyr asked.  
"Probably, but why would a mage or a sorceress be interested in witcher swords?"   
"Actually two things," Lambert suddenly noticed.  
"Two things what?"   
"Two things do not fit," Lambert replied impatiently. "Now I know what's been bothering me all this time. What about that palace guard who tried to kill you in Novigrad, Geralt?“

Geralt frowned.  
"No idea", he admitted.  
Lambert snapped his fingers. "According to Regis - who heard this from your bard friend - he disappeared, just like that."  
"What, also by magic?" Emhyr asked.  
Lambert shook his head.  
"No, apparently he just ran away. And the question is, why did he want to kill you anyway - if the plan was to make sure you were both in Aretuza. Where this vampire turns up who wants to pick up the Emperor for a date or whatever.“

"So that guy's still out there?" Geralt said tense. "If he's still in Novigrad, it could be dangerous for Dandelion."  
"We don't know if he's still in Novigrad. Besides, Dandelion's known there by almost anybody. If he wanted to find him, he probably would have done it already."  
"Well thank you, that's very reassuring", Geralt said sarcastically.   
"The question is, what does he know? If we could find him..."  
"How are you planning to find a single guy, maybe or maybe not in hiding in Novigrad?" Emhyr interfered. "What about this vampire, is that a lead we could follow?"  
"Regis could take care of that", Geralt replied. "Apart from that, the guard is actually our only lead. But we should wait and see what Mikaela can tell us when she's ready."  
Lambert nodded.  
„I still say we better get ready for a trip to Novigrad."


	20. Dead sound of misery

— 19 —  
  
There is no sense at all  
So many times I have failed  
  
 **Dead sound of misery**  
  


The door suddenly opened and Triss stepped inside. She looked tired and worn out.   
"Here you are, I've been looking for you," she said. "Mikaela is awake, and she demands to see the Emperor."  
"I am coming," said Emhyr and stood up.  
"Wait, I'll come with you," said Geralt, and Lambert dropped in: "We'll all go."  
"I don't think so..." Emhyr started, but Lambert interrupted him: "As for me, I have no reason to trust her. Just think of me as an emergency insurance."  
Geralt was surprised that Emhyr didn't mind the rude tone. At least he didn't make a sharp remark, as Geralt actually had expected. Maybe he just had enough of this day - Geralt couldn't blame him. 

Mikaela sat upright in bed, looking a little bruised and battered, but otherwise quite allright - and with an somewhat angry look on her face. Regis was was just about to put away some utensils when the others came in. He frowned when he saw Geralt, but when he opened his mouth to say something, a sharp look and a silent shake of his head reached him. So he said nothing when he rose and stepped aside.

"I did not betray you," it broke out of Mikaela as soon as the Emperor had entered the room.   
Geralt pushed himself past Emhyr, sat down on the edge of the bed with a strangely stiff movement and said softly, "I know. And Emhyr knows it too." He turned to him briefly and looked at him insistently. If Emhyr was surprised, he would not let it show. He would not answer.  
"Oh, I can understand that he had doubts. That is his nature, he is the Emperor. But you?" She looked at him with her deep blue eyes, calm, but obviously hurt.  
"I'm sorry," Geralt said and reached for her hand. „I really am. Why don't you tell us what happened?“

Mikaela looked at him furiously.   
"That's just it. I have no idea! Did I do this, this destruction? I feel like I've been cursed."  
"More like spellbound," Triss suddenly sounded. She came closer and sat next to Geralt on the edge of the bed.   
"What kind of spell?" Mikaela asked tense.   
"Blood magic", Regis suddenly said. Triss nodded.  
"Wait, the kind Yennefer used to..." Geralt threw in.  
"To speak to the dead, yes. Blood magic can be used for many purposes, and all of them are dark. What was done here was _literally_ blood magic - magic that is worked through the blood," Triss explained. "Regis and I talked about it earlier. The spell was obviously designed to be activated at high emotions - anger, resentment, but also fear would work."  
"But this is pure gambling," Mikaela threw in. „It could have been activated at almost any time.“  
"Not necessarily," Triss replied. "If we were to be convinced that you wanted to betray us, it was a kind of reassurance."  
"That no one can trace the originator of the spell - and thus the one behind it all. I could have died!"  
"And we should have believed that you killed yourself because your plan failed.“

"Who the hell would do that?" Lambert asked.  
"The question is rather who can do it," Triss replied. "It's like the weapon Geralt was attacked with - strong magic, inseparable from the one who cast it. I guess Yennefer would be capable of that kind of magic. But besides her?" She hesitated.  
"Well, I think we can rule out Yen, as she's with Ciri - and I hope we agree that she wouldn't do something like that", Geralt said. But he had to admit that he wasn’t entirely sure about that. She had never been the easiest person to deal with, and her motives were often not so easy to understand. But even she had now almost settled down, she helped Ciri to find her way into her future task, when she spoke to Geralt there was no hostility, and - she had no reason to want to harm him or Emhyr. At least he hoped she hadn’t.

Lambert pulled a face, but when he spoke, he said surprisingly: "I do hope so. That leaves the headmistress."  
"Laux-Antille?" said Emhyr. "Why would she..."  
"Margarita has always been neutral," Triss said.   
"But neutral may not be enough to get an academy up and running again," Mikaela interjected.  
"You distrust her?" Geralt asked.  
The young sorceress hesitated.  
"I only think about things that have happened in the past which may now appear in a different light. I don't want to believe that she has bewitched me. But how many of us are left who are capable of that?"  
"Remember the mages," Triss interjected.  
"I don't know of any _mages_ that currently dislike me," Geralt said.  
Lambert made a noise.  
"Rita certainly wouldn't have needed a vampire to lure the emperor anywhere if she already had him in Aretuza," Triss now threw in.   
"Exactly. None of this makes sense", Geralt said frustratedly.  
"In any case, it doesn't make sense to approach _her_ without any evidence," Mikaela said with a slightly bitter tone.   
"I'll make it up to you," Geralt said softly.   
"Then do it by finding out who is behind all this," she replied.   
  
"We will," Lambert interfered. It was true, he had no reason to trust Mikaela. But there seemed to be no reason to mistrust her either.   
"We'll find that damned ex-guard who's probably hiding somewhere in Novigrad."  
"It couldn't hurt to inform the city guards," Geralt told Emhyr. "Nobody has been looking for him so far, it may increase the pressure. He can't hide forever. I suppose Mikaela can describe him, you can have a drawing made."   
"Oh, don't worry, I know exactly what the man looked like," Emhyr said grimly. "I'm still not sure about Novigrad, but I think it's as good as all we have."  
"What about the vampire?" Lambert asked in Regis' direction. He nodded.  
"I can find out if he still lives in Maribor. He probably won't hide, but of course I don't know if he'll talk to me."  
"But we need someone here to secure the Emperor," Geralt countered.   
"Mikaela and I are here," Triss replied. "An entire army troop is here, Geralt."  
"But what if this is exactly the kind of diversion someone is planning?"  
"You worry too much," said Emhyr. "We must act now. I'm safe enough."  
Geralt did not answer. He stood up and said to Lambert, "Then we should leave."  
"Wait, shall I teleport you?" Triss asked.  
"No, I've had enough of that", Geralt growled. "We'll be in Novigrad in less than a day, there will be some horse for Lambert in the stables of the palace.“  
Without turning around again, he walked out.  
"What's wrong?" Triss asked irritated.  
"He reproaches himself because of her," Lambert said astonishingly perceptive, pointing at Mikaela.   
"And he's in pain," Regis added, and Lambert nodded. "I still have potions, it will help a little. And I can't restrain him."  
"Then I'll at least try to change the bandages before you leave," Regis said with a sigh. But before he could leave the room, Emhyr held him back.   
"Let me talk to him first," he said quietly.

Geralt hadn’t gotten far yet. Maybe he had been waiting for Lambert, maybe he was involuntarily slow - at least he walked very slowly through the corridor. He turned when he heard the door and frowned when he saw Emhyr.  
"You're not going to try to change my mind now, are you?"  
Emhyr shook his head and approached him.  
"That has never been a promising strategy," he said. He came closer, forcing Geralt to stop and look at him.  
"You once told me - and if you think well on it, not even that long ago - you were not " _my witcher_ “, do you remember?“  
"I believe I also said that I wasn't your _puppy_ ", Geralt replied with a faint smile.  
"I don't need a puppy. But obviously I need a witcher. And you're mine, like it or not."   
"Emhyr. Getting emotional?"  
"Perhaps. I just want to make sure you return home unharmed if possible.“  
Geralt was a little surprised, even though he tried hard not to let it show. Emhyr was not really what was commonly known as sentimental. He certainly had a way of showing his feelings - but not usually with words. They had that in common. But maybe things changed over time.  
"I can't promise that. But … I’m yours, if you absolutely must hear it."  
"I must," said Emhyr.   
"Then come here, because I _do_ like it" Geralt said roughly, pulled Emhyr to himself and closed his mouth with a kiss that was as passionate as it was almost desperate - until it was interrupted by Regis and Lambert, who entered the hallway in that moment.  
"Shut up," Geralt said warningly in Lambert's direction, while Lambert just looked innocent.  
"I didn't say anything? Come on, let's get you patched up before we leave."


	21. The bard's song (In the forest)

— 20 —  
  
Tomorrow will take it away  
The fear of today  
It will be gone  
  
 **The bard’s song (In the forest)**  
  


If anyone had seen Dandelion in the woods around Novigrad, they would have quickly got the impression that the bard was hiding. Of course he made sure that nobody saw him: he stayed away from the streets and travelled on foot. It wasn't that he was really hiding. It was not unusual for him to withdraw to some quiet place when, as he called it, "the muse was kissing him". Nowadays, the secret place outside on the roof of his establishment was usually enough for him, preferably on a starry night. 

But not today. Today he felt that the usually welcome noise in the chameleon was too much for him (and that was unusual). Dandelion was not hiding, it was more like fleeing, and he knew exactly from what. He knew a small clearing in these woods, not so far from the city, but far enough away from everything that he was almost certain that only he knew about it - maybe apart from, say, wolves, but nowadays not many wolves strayed this close to the city.

Dandelion wandered on his lonely way through the undergrowth, on a path he knew and which kept him far enough away from other trails. Since he had left the city, he had had the strange feeling that he was not completely alone. Of course there were animals in the forest, lots of them, but rather no monsters - except maybe the kind that followed you from Novigrad. So he was alert, but not overly worried. Lately he seemed more nervous than usual, so he didn't give too much weight to the feeling.

He reached the clearing, a small mossy meadow amidst tall trees, which presented itself in the perfect light of the setting sun. There was the half-rotten trunk of a tree once impaled by lightning, on which he usually sat down, so he did so and blinked thoughtfully into the sun. There was a lot to think about, more than there was to write songs (and that too was unusual). Dandelion, a colorful spot amidst various shades of green, pursued his thoughts for a while, until he suddenly noticed that it was quiet. Silence, contrary to the opinion of civilized city dwellers, was not the sound of the forest - normally the forest was full of life, never quiet, not even at night. But now it was quiet. The birds did not sing, there was no distant rustling in the undergrowth as if by smaller animals. He raised his head, listened strained and finally stood up, slightly worried.   
  
Maybe this was not the best evening to be alone in the forest, no matter how often he had been here and how sure he was that no one had ever followed him. And who would follow him? Certainly not Priscilla - although the thought might not have been so absurd, as often as he had avoided her lately. He preferred to avoid the thought as well. A secret admirer? Not entirely improbable, but somehow creepy - he was surrounded by admirers often enough, maybe one of them had thought there must be a better opportunity to catch him alone ...

Dandelion realized a little later that he was quite far off the mark. He had planned to stay not much longer than dusk anyway, but he was just thinking it over when a sound came from the bushes behind him. The bard turned around quickly, fixing the undergrowth and at the same time walking slowly backwards in the direction he had come from. But the attack came from the side, unexpectedly, when a figure suddenly jumped at him and threw him violently to the ground. 

Something heavy landed on him, a man, as he realized shortly afterwards, tall and dressed in torn clothes that didn't seem to fit him quite well. But the hairstyle, though a little uncombed, revealed to Dandelion that the man must be a Nilfgaardian, more precisely someone who was - or had been - employed in some kind of public function. Dandelion realized all this in a fraction of a second, while trying to sort his bones and catch his breath, when the other man got up and grabbed him rudely by the collar. 

"What the... hey!" Dandelion made a timid attempt to free himself, resulting in a gruff fizzle and a painful blow to the head.  
"Shut up," the guy hissed. Clearly not a suitor, Dandelion thought. His ear was tingling.   
"Where is the witcher?" the man now asked.  
"What? The... the witcher? This must be a misunderstanding," Dandelion replied irritated.   
"Is he your friend or not? You surely know where he is?"  
"Of course he is my friend, but do I look like I carry him around with me in my pockets, my goodness!", Dandelion shouted unnervedly. 

The remark resulted in another blow to the back of the head, this time stronger.   
"Are we talking about the same witcher? Because he doesn't come to Novigrad very often. And how should I know where he is?"  
"I think you know exactly who we're talking about", said the man who clearly came from Nilfgaard and whose face and voice reminded Dandelion of someone. Someone in different clothes. No, a suit of armor. With... a helmet? And a fucking knife.   
  
"Supposing I knew the whereabouts of said witcher - and I insist, I don't - then what?"  
"I only wonder, after you have helped him, if he would return the favour," the man replied.   
"What?"  
  
The guy might not have a knife this time, but all the fidgeting didn't help Dandelion out of his tight grip.  
  
"Listen, I've been following you for two days. I think I know enough about the famous Dandelion by now - at least I think he would be missed pretty soon."  
"Missed, why…?"  
"Because you're going to go off the grid for a while, bard. Because I want the witcher to look for you. Wherever he is now, he will be looking for you if he thinks you are in danger, won’t he? And he'll find you, I'll make sure of it. And then I'm going to take matters into my own hands again, and this time it'll work."  
"You're gonna kill a witcher without any weapon? Well, good luck with that," Dandelion scoffed.   
"I do not want to kill him. I have realized that I have made a mistake." The man spoke almost feverishly - or, Dandelion thought, simply like a madman. 

"The whole thing's gone to my head," he went on, as if he were speaking to himself. "I thought I could get more out of it if I made sure she didn't get the witcher right away."  
"She? Who is she?" asked Dandelion, while he carefully checked whether the madman's grip was slowly loosening. It was not.   
"But you got in my way," the man continued.   
"Yes, I'm sorry, but you held a knife to my friend's throat," said Dandelion.   
"To make sure he'd listen to me. That he would do as I said."  
"He was wounded. It was perhaps the only chance to overcome a witcher," muttered Dandelion, for whom the puzzle was slowly coming together.   
  
This man, who had once been a palace guard of the Emperor and had betrayed him, had obviously gotten involved in a deal where he was hoping for a little more profit. Whoever had incited him to this betrayal should pay more for it. Maybe he hadn't known that he had gotten involved with a sorceress - because that much was clear to the bard, magic weapon and all, even though he couldn't figure out who it was all about. Either the guy hadn't known that or he had underestimated the risk. Pure greed - not a brilliant motive. And pretty stupid. A sorceress would hardly be blackmailed by a palace guard. And a wounded witcher was still a very dangerous witcher. Greed may have been one of the oldest motives in the world, but in this case, very stupid indeed.

Dusk was approaching, and if he didn't get out of here soon, his chances would drop. In total darkness, he would hardly find his way, at least not running. Dandelion didn't want to end up a hostage to this madman. Yeah, he'd probably be missed pretty soon. Maybe someone would put two and two together and actually inform Geralt, but that could take some time. Besides, he had no idea if his condition had improved in the meantime due to Triss' magical intervention - in fact, he had been about to send a message to Aretuza to ask about it. But even healing magic had its limits. Not much time had passed yet and it was questionable if Geralt was even able to search for him - and there was also the question if the emperor was still in danger. In short, Dandelion thought the prospect of being in the hands of this guy and waiting for rescue was pretty risky. Not to say crazy. So he carefully groped for the small dagger he was hiding in the sewn-in pockets of his trousers - a precaution he considered absolutely necessary, not only since the violent attack of an all too tempestuous admirer. But his movements had obviously been too treacherous, for the man's iron grip suddenly shifted from his upper body to his hips - and gone was the useful little weapon.  
  
"A dagger, eh?" whispered the man, and the next blow to Dandelion's head was fiercely led and went straight to his temple - and the last thing he thought was, "Oh, great. I just got him a weapon."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This whole chapter only exists because I absolutely wanted to have the song as a chapter title. So I made it work.   
> And here it is, ["The Bards Song - In the forest"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TMSx95iU-yQ) (the original version - you can find a very good cover in the playlist in the Introduction).


	22. Don't talk to strangers

— 21 —  
  
Can you feel me? I’m danger - I’m a stranger  
And I  
I’m darkness, I’m anger, I’m pain  
  
**Don’t talk to strangers  
  
**

Lambert had been unusually quiet since they fetched the horses and mounted them right behind the city gates. Though, perhaps not _unusually_ quiet - Lambert talked too much when he was drunk, and he had a loud mouth, but he didn't usually just chatter away. Now, however, Geralt had the feeling that he was deliberately silent. Or even more that he didn't talk about something in particular. Geralt wondered if he should just push Roach into a gallop to avoid any conversation.

But it was probably not a good idea. A well-balanced, complicated combination of various elixirs had made sure that he was able to stay in the saddle at all, that the bleeding was stopped again and that the poisoning was not too high to cause even more damage. But the effect would not last forever. And every time the wound started bleeding and hurting again - and the whole spell seemed to be designed to make this happen over and over again - he had the feeling of getting weaker. And while pain was part of the job, even witchers were not designed for constant blood loss. All this was a subject that both of them did not want to pursue further, so they both kept silent for quite a long time during their ride. Apart from that, there were other things that kept his mind occupied.

Lately, his concern for Emhyr had taken on strange proportions, and vice versa. No, not so much the worry - although it had been the trigger. The prospect of possible danger for the man had made a long forgotten string in him resonate. Ever since they had discovered that they felt something for each other, they had never named this feeling. There had been no reason. It had been strange at first, but for a long time they were simply enjoying it. It had always been more than sex, though. Neither of them had been afraid to show their affections for each other in public. Ciri had once teased them both for acting like an old couple. And somehow that was true, they _were_ an old couple, considering their shared past and all that sneaking around each other until it even came to acknowledging the affection. But they had never talked about it. Had never named it. Something seemed to change, and Geralt wasn't sure if that was good or not. Whether he wanted it or not (oh, but he wanted). Pronouncing it would make it real. Geralt had done it before, and it had never gone well. It seemed to be safer the way it was.

Eventually, Lambert broke the silence.  
"So where do we start?" he asked.   
Geralt had let Roach determine the route all the time, barely holding the reins - from Wyzima to Novigrad was an extremely familiar route for her - and had been drifting over it into an almost meditative state. Lambert's voice brought him back to reality, and he replied: "We are visiting Dandelion. First, I want to make sure that everything is okay with him, and then he can show us in which direction the guy disappeared. Frankly, I don't remember much about that night. I may know roughly where the portal opened, but we should make sure."  
Lambert nodded.   
"All right," he said. „We may not find any traces anymore, though. We should also find out if anyone has seen this guard.“   
Geralt gave a nod.   
He looked around consciously for the first time, registered the surroundings and noticed that they had already made a good part of the way - even without galloping. As always, Roach had found her own pace. She would also find the way from Wyzima to Touissant blindfolded.

Dusk was approaching. When they reached the town it would be night, but with the Emperor's seal it was no problem to get in then. Geralt was almost irritated that Lambert hadn't said a word about it - they could have waited until tomorrow, they could have accepted Triss' offer, too. It was unlikely that they would achieve much more tonight. Even more surprising to him was his own restlessness. But he couldn't pursue the thought any further, because a little before them the road was blocked by a cart. Lambert had seen it a while before. Maybe he had even said something about it - it worried Geralt how distracted he had obviously been. 

"That's a really silly old trick," Lambert said now.  
"Much too close to the city," Geralt murmured. They slowed down the horses.  
Lambert's borrowed, really beautiful black horse snorted a little nervously as they approached the obstacle. Roach showed no interest at all, which might be partly due to the zerrikanian blinders.   
"What do we do?" mumbled Lambert.  
"We wait", Geralt replied.   
"I'd really like to see who'd like to attack two witchers," said Lambert, who sat upright in the saddle a bit and demonstratively straightened his swords - which, by the way, sat perfectly.  
  
As if on cue, five figures pushed themselves out of the nearby undergrowth and approached the obstacle. Lambert sighed in a distinctly bored tone.   
"A bit late on the road," said one of the men. He was armed with a battle hammer, unlike the others, who carried ordinary swords. A rather unusual weapon for a mugger, Geralt thought fleetingly, but extremely effective if you wanted to get someone off the horse.   
"Five against two", Lambert let himself be heard. "Do you think that's fair, huh?"  
"I don't think this is about fairness," the man replied - clearly the leader of this little gang.   
"I don't feel like this," Geralt said. "Stop wasting my time and get out of the way.“

His tone of voice should have been a clear warning. Actually, everything about their appearance should have been a warning to these vagrants. Maybe they were just particularly stupid, maybe they really had no idea who they were looking at. All they saw were extremely good horses - did they blend out the swords, or did they find the fact particularly challenging? Geralt and Lambert had both seen this kind of men far too often. And they both really didn't have the time or the desire for it.

"I meant fair for you," Lambert said.   
"Get off your horses," was the answer.   
"You sure you want this?"  
Lambert looked at Geralt, and they both dismounted in an almost perfectly simultaneous movement, and each of them sent his horse away with a short, flat blow to the flank.   
"You there, get the horses back," the leader hissed at one of his men, who immediately ran off to recapture the animals.  
The witchers drew their swords, again in almost a single movement. The only difference was that Geralt pulled with his left hand. It would be good enough.   
"Boss, I think they are witchers", one of the men said nervously.   
"Then you have nothing to fear", his leader returned. "Witchers fight monsters."  
"You take what you can get," Lambert said casually.   
"Can't you shut up for once?" Geralt snorted.   
  
"The one with the hammer is mine," Lambert replied. "I'm in a bad mood today."  
"You're always in a bad mood," murmured Geralt.   
"Are you done with your little talk?" the boss of the little gang interfered.  
"If they attack, they're finished," said Lambert.  
"You're getting on my nerves," Geralt answered.  
„Same here," said the leader, and without further remarks he swung his hammer in Lambert's direction. It was a good swing, but completely predictable - Lambert didn't even bat an eyelid when he swerved with a simple step to the side. The blow went nowhere, but the attacker did not lose his balance - he skilfully intercepted the swing and in the next movement turned to the side to restart his attack. Obviously he was a skilled fighter. And it actually seemed as if Lambert's mind was cheered up a bit by that.

The other three muggers had meanwhile stepped out of their leader's shadow, albeit slightly hesitant, and formed up in front of Geralt. _Great_ , he thought. He wasn't really in his best shape to fend off three of these guys with his left hand, but none of them seemed as well-trained as their boss.   
"It's not too late to surrender," he said, feeling that he had said this to hundreds of guys like that a hundred times before.  
The one on his left attacked first, which was convenient. His attack was not bad, but not necessarily skillful either - Geralt had seen with one quick glance that his fingers were resting wrongly on the hilt, the typical mistake of a person who had been trained too fast or too inaccurately in sword fighting. Geralt didn't even have to use much force to knock the sword out of his hand with a single, flowing movement. The man cried out in surprise and took a step back, almost stumbling into his comrades. The attack of that man was slowed down by this and Geralt could concentrate on the third attacker, who seemed to be a little more skilled.

In the meantime, Lambert avoided the repeated attacks of the gang leader. The guy just didn't seem to understand: His hammer was an effective and, if he hit, quite cruel weapon. But it was also heavy - a weapon that required strength and momentum. He might be able to knock a rider off his horse with it, but in close combat he needed more stamina than he apparently possessed - his obvious experience didn't help him much against Lambert. Lambert let him get close several times, evaded, even parried a blow once, until he finally had enough of it. The next time the guy tried to attack, much slower than before, Lambert gave the man a quick jab just above the knee. It was an effective and not very labour-intensive way to take the power away from the attack immediately. The man didn't say a word when he fell to his knees - he was too surprised or already too much in shock. Lambert had deliberately not aimed at the femoral artery, but this area here was also bleeding extremely badly.

Geralt was now facing only two attackers, because the one he had knocked the sword out of his hand had lost his nerve and disappeared. He fell into a state that was close to an ancient and very familiar dance. His movements were precise and sharp, when he first let one of the prevented muggers approach, fended off his attack with a simple parry and then pulled the sword grip over his skull in a rapid riposte with a simple turn of the hand. While the man was still falling, Geralt turned around faster than the other one could react and hit him in exactly the same place where his simple padded leather doublet had a weak spot - right at the side seam. It wasn't a deadly attack, it wasn't intended that way. 

Geralt turned to Lambert, who almost smiled - which admittedly seemed a bit strange under the circumstances - and asked: "Where is the last one?  
Lambert pointed with his sword in the direction of the path they had come from, and indeed, the unlucky fifth man with the horses approached there.  
"How kind of him to bring our horses back," Lambert mocked.  
The last robber still standing upright saw what had happened to his comrades and fled as quickly as his boots would carry him.

Lambert looked at the chaos around them, shook his head and put the sword back in his sheath. Together they pushed the cart off the road, silently made sure that none of the guys would bleed to death immediately, and sat up again.   
"'That could have been avoided', Geralt grumbled.   
"Are you okay?" Lambert asked.   
Geralt waved it away. He was still high on the potions. He didn't even feel as if he had broken into a sweat.   
Lambert grinned as they went into a light trot again and resumed their way to Novigrad.   
"Come on, admit it, it loosened the mood," he said.   
And Geralt thought that it somehow really had. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song for this chapter is: [State of my head, Shinedown](https://open.spotify.com/track/1fnULsZuORnAgCFFbM8nTZ?si=ijB3LdLURb6eD50EDzucpQ)


	23. Nightfall

— 22 —  
  
Nightfall  
Quietly crept in and changed us all  
  
 **Nightfall**  
  


In addition to the usual imperial activities of his reign, there was chaos this time because of a half-destroyed wall, a room that was no longer usable, a bunch of startled nobles from all kinds of provinces who were preparing to leave, probably spreading all kinds of rumours, the smoldering question of who was responsible for the betrayal and the subliminal concern about a certain, stubborn witcher. All in all, it was exhausting, night was approaching, and Emhyr was not in the best of moods - though for most it was hard to tell when his mood changed - when he took a moment between all his other duties to confer with Triss Merigold.

"What's your position with the headmistress?" he was just asking her.  
She looked at him openly.  
"She is an old friend."  
"Which means?"  
Triss drew in the air sharply. She, too, had more than enough of that day.   
"Meaning I don't believe she's involved in this matter in any way. I don't _want_ to believe it."  
Emhyr tilted his head to one side and looked at her intently.  
"There is a certain difference," he addressed the obvious. Triss didn't answer, and he decided not to pursue the matter any further. Of course, he had to make sure that if anything happened, she would do what needed to be done. On the other hand, he didn't really believe that she would side with Laux-Antille - if only because of Geralt.  
He leaned back a little in his chair - he had needed to convert another room, there was no lack of rooms in this palace, but everything that was ruined in the other room was missing, and it made him angry. Not only the work that was destroyed. 

"We haven't had a chance to talk about the nature of this... magical injury," he finally said.   
"The magic behind the wound?" Triss asked in surprise. "Yes, that's true. What's your interest in it?"  
Emhyr raised his brows.  
„What _my_ interest in it is?"  
Triss felt her face blush - an experience she hadn't had for a long time and which she would have gladly renounced now.   
"I meant..." she started, but he interrupted her quickly.   
"I know. Let's just say it's in both our best interests to know as much as possible about it."  
Triss nodded.

"Well," she replied, "I'm sure there was no curse on the weapon, more like a malediction. A spell designed to do permanent damage, usually until a certain condition is met."  
"What kind of condition?"  
"Various things are possible: Perhaps a specific time frame, or a condition directly linked to whoever cast the spell. Something that has to be fulfilled, perhaps the handing over of something," she enumerated.  
"Or of a person?" Emhyr asked.  
Triss thought about it.  
"Yes, perhaps. It would be a possible explanation for the appearance of this vampire. I'm only guessing here since the spell was of an extremely high level. Ultimately, the necessary condition may even include the enchanted's death. But since we don't know if the attack was actually meant for Geralt, it's just speculation.“

"The vampire wanted _me_ ," said Emhyr.  
"Yes, but it would have worked the other way around. If you had been wounded with a weapon that causes a wound that can only be healed by fulfilling a certain condition..."  
"You think Geralt would have agreed to hand me over to someone if it helped?"   
"As a last resort, possibly," Triss said firmly.  
Emhyr frowned.  
"I don't know if I would have done that."  
"I think we would both do a great deal if we had to. Love does that to most people.“

He didn't say anything about that, but she might have noticed a certain uneasiness on his face. No, it wasn't really discomfort, that brief flash of light that she thought she recognized in his eyes. Maybe it was just the repeated reminder of their, Geralts and Triss', common past. For a brief moment, Triss wondered whether the emperor was actually feeling jealous - of a past feeling?

"In any case, we cannot know," she continued. "The only fact we know is that the wound simply will not heal until some unknown condition is met. But there are two things that reliably resolve such a spell: Whoever has spoken it withdraws its consequences. Or they die, in which case the enchantment loses its power. Then the wound will either heal immediately, or in a very ordinary period of time.“  
Emhyr rose and said, "I would prefer one of these cases. Because whoever did this, I'm afraid they are never willing to voluntarily withdraw their spell."  
"That's what I think," Triss replied with undisguised concern in her voice.  
  
  
—

  
Dusk had now completely fallen over the forest when Dandelion - somewhat confused - opened his eyes and remembered in a split second. Why they were still in the forest remained a mystery to him, but obviously they had progressed much deeper than before. The scenery was completely different from the clearing he knew, and not only because of the approaching darkness he didn't recognize anything. He sat leaning against a tree, surrounded by thick undergrowth and even more trees - _it's a damn forest, Julian_ , he thought slightly panicky - and a little further away there seemed to be a cave. His hands were tied, his skull was buzzing, and the crazy guy was still there ( _yes, you idiot, where would he go? He could hardly show up in the city_ , he thought). He seemed to have just collected firewood.

"Might be more comfortable to spend the night in that cave back there," Dandelion lightly suggested.   
The man raised his brows.  
"Ah, awake again? Too bad. Some kind of monster lives in that cave. Thought for a moment about whether that would speed things up, but nope."  
"I thought I should be used as bait," the bard rebelled.  
"Yes, but a bait that's about to be eaten by a monster might be even more attractive to a witcher, right? But well, actually the idea was not such a good one, who knows how far away your witcher still is. Might come too late, and what do I get out of it“, he babbled as he piled up branches and twigs and knocked on his pockets, apparently in search of a flint.

The guy was clearly insane. Dandelion thought it would lower his chances of getting out of here by chatting, at the least. He had been around long enough to find out that you can never negotiate with lunatics. With stupid people, with intelligent people of course, with angry, at times with sad people and sometimes even with monsters. But not with lunatics.

"Why exactly are we setting up camp near a monster's lair?" Dandelion asked graciously. Kindness, he thought, was always a way to deal with a situation.  
The other man blinked briefly and looked in the direction of the cave.  
"It's far enough away," he murmured.   
"Depends on what's in there," Dandelion said. "What exactly is in there?"  
"I don't know," growled the fellow as he tried to light a fire.  
"Ah, I just mean, maybe a fire is somehow attractive to such a monster?"  
"Bullshit, monsters don't like fire.“

Dandelion sighed. It wasn't his fault that his previous adventures had given him far more experience with monsters than he would have liked ( _actually, it IS your own fault, you know_ , he thought). In any case, the assumption that fire is an effective means of driving away all kinds of creatures was not correct. But at least there was hope that whatever was in that cave - if there was anything at all - was among those who actually had a certain aversion to fire.   
Obviously they would spend the night out here. And if they hadn't frozen to death by tomorrow morning - because spring was clearly not yet in the starting blocks in Novigrad - he hoped that he had come up with something to get out of here.

  
—  
  


It was now completely dark when they reached the city, passed Glory Gate without any problems thanks to the imperial authority and descended to lead the horses through the alleys of the city. However, complete darkness never really applied to Novigrad, although the city clearly had its shady corners.

"So, this bard friend of yours owns a tavern here, does he?" Lambert asked.   
"It's more than a tavern somehow", Geralt replied. "He calls it a cabaret."  
"What, some kind of brothel?"  
"Precisely not. Why? Did you get a kick out of running into a couple of vagrants or what?"  
Lambert made a somewhat amusing noise.  
"Unlike you," he started, and Geralt said, "Don't even start."  
"Unlike you," Lambert continued unmoved, "it made me thirsty."  
Geralt rolled his eyes.   
"The place doesn't have a stable, but I think we can leave the horses outside for a night."  
"In Novigrad? You have unshakable confidence", Lambert teased him. "But all right, yes, I think we can manage.“

In the meantime, they had reached the chameleon, whose thick walls could only insufficiently dampen the noise inside, and tied the horses to a railing in front of the building.  
"Are they having a party in there or what?"   
"It's a performing arts venue," Geralt explained.   
"Party art?"  
"Lambert. Just go have a drink and don't bother me. I'm looking for Dandelion", Geralt said and opened the door.   
The noise from inside was getting worse and it felt as if they were walking into a wall of music, laughter, way too many people and a multitude of smells. Lambert, who inexplicably seemed to enjoy this atmosphere - perhaps only because it promised lots of alcohol - made his way through the crowd and mysteriously found an empty table in a corner.

Geralt searched the room for the bard, but he was nowhere to be found. However, he spotted Priscilla standing near the bar, with her lute in her hand and absorbed in conversation with another woman; possibly her appearance was imminent. Geralt quickened his steps to catch her beforehand, evading a handful of drunks (and a suddenly flying mug) with a sinister expression on his face to finally reach her.   
Just at that moment Priscilla turned around - the woman she was talking to had excitedly pointed in Geralt's direction.   
"Geralt!" she shouted happily and gave him a big hug.   
"I'm surprised to see you here. Dandelion told me a true horror story the other day..."  
"Good to see you, Priscilla," Geralt said with a smile. "Everything okay?"  
"Of course," she replied smiling, "more than okay. But I hope you're not here to meet Dandelion. Because I don't know where he is either.“

Geralt frowned.  
"We are indeed here for him," he said.  
"We?"  
"I am here with Lambert," he answered, pointing to the other witcher in the back corner of the room, who was just emptying a jug in one go.   
"Ah, I see," Priscilla said, but she obviously sounded confused.   
"Listen, where can he be?" Geralt urged.   
"Does this have something to do with that attack the other night?" Priscilla wondered. Geralt nodded.  
  
"I have to admit, he was a little weird after that, although I thought it had to do with..."  
"With what?" Geralt asked.  
"Oh, nothing," said the blonde poet quickly. "He's sometimes on the roof, you know, he thinks I don't know he's hiding up there, looking at the stars. But he's not there tonight, I was looking for him. Actually, we were going to perform together tonight. To be honest, I'm a little pissed off that he just disappeared."  
"It's not like him to voluntarily pass up an opportunity to be in the spotlight," Geralt remarked.   
"Not really," Priscilla replied smiling. The music had stopped in the meantime and she said startled: "Oh dear, it's my turn. Listen, you don't think he's in trouble, do you?"  
"I don't think so", Geralt lied without batting an eyelid. 

Priscilla smiled confidently, waved to him fleetingly and then ran onto the small stage.   
Geralt looked around briefly. Meanwhile Lambert emptied the who-knows-how-many jug of beer and didn't look as if he cared much about what Geralt was doing in the meantime. Geralt cursed quietly as he tried to squeeze through the meanwhile quite heated crowd. Priscilla was undoubtedly the attraction of the evening, and when she struck the first notes of her lute, a murmur went through the audience. Geralt used his elbows to get through to Lambert, reaped the familiar angry looks and insults that didn't bother him much, and finally made it to the table. 

"Did you have a good time?" he growled.  
"Ab-so-lutely," Lambert said. After all, he was not drunk yet. There was a lot more to it than that.  
"All right, then, don't make yourself comfortable. Come on. Dandelion's not here. Priscilla says he was supposed to be on tonight but didn't show."  
Lambert rammed his jug on the table and said, "Is that unusual?"  
Geralt raised his eyebrows.   
"We're talking about Dandelion.“

"Ah yes, I remember", mumbled Lambert. "Likes to hear himself talk and sings at every opportunity, preferably to people who don't want to listen. What must it be like in front of a willing audience?"   
„It's not funny, Lambert. We need to find out where he's gone."  
"All right," mumbled Lambert, taking one last longing look at the empty jug on the table.   
"Let's ask around who had seen him last."  
  


—  
  


The distance from Wyzima to Maribor was not a great challenge for Regis, but at least the journey was long enough for him to reflect: About his old acquaintance, the higher vampire, who - like most of his kind - preferred life in the city and probably moved around quite freely. Had he recognized Regis at once? Was that why he had hidden his face? Regis did not know the man very well, although he had certainly met him several times in the many centuries of his life. His name was, if he remembered correctly, Anies, and he was comparatively young, at least considerably younger than Regis himself. Apart from that he didn't really know much more about him.

He reached Maribor after midnight, when practically no one was walking through the streets anymore - except maybe for a few burglars and tramps. And the odd vampire, of course, who was possibly hunting for something other than the ordinary material goods that humans had to offer.

Regis, of course, did not know exactly where Anies was staying, and Maribor was the second largest city in the region after Wyzima. He could have spent quite some time searching - but there was hardly time for that, and the elixir he had made to identify the other vampire would also help to track him here. Not on its own, however - it required a small magical impulse, kindly granted by the sorceress Merigold. This had turned the small elixir into a very powerful little spell that Regis now intended to use. However, as he discovered shortly afterwards, this was not necessary at all. His arrival in one of the darker alleys of the city had not gone unnoticed - and he himself had noticed the other vampire at the same moment it materialized behind him.

Slowly, Regis turned around. There stood the younger man, an outrageously good-looking vampire who had decided sometime in the last century to wear his curly hair so long that he had to tie it at the back of his head. It was a bit ridiculous.  
"Emiel," he said.   
"I prefer Regis these days."  
The other one shrugged.   
"Just imagine that I'm a bit old-fashioned."  
"You're a bit too young to be old-fashioned," Regis said politely.  
"By human standards, you mean?"  
"Listen," Regis took a step towards the other vampire, who unexpectedly recoiled.  
"I can imagine what you want from me," said Anies. "I've been waiting for you ever since I realized you were there. In Aretuza. It was clear that it was only a matter of time. You've got yourself quite an... interesting reputation, Emiel."  
Regis raised his eyebrows.  
"What is that supposed to mean?“

The other laughed softly and then looked up to the stone walls of the houses in the alley, almost as if he feared he could be heard.  
"Did you think that this Beauclair business your friend was running wouldn't have gotten around? And your part in it?"  
"My _part_ in it," Regis replied in a sharper tone, "consisted mainly in bringing him back to his senses."  
"Perhaps. And by all accounts, you succeeded. "But do you realize that there were some who thought Dettlaff's action was quite satisfactory?"  
"Is that what this is all about?" Regis asked, astonished.   
"Oh, nonsense," said Anies. "Come, I want to show you something.“

Without waiting for an answer, the younger vampire turned around, ran down the alley and disappeared around the corner. Regis sighed and followed him. Soon he realized that the other one actually led him to his home - a stately house in the middle of downtown. All in all, it was anything but subtle, but in keeping with the man's character. 

Anies led him through a dark vestibule into a large, candle-lit room, which by Maribor standards actually seemed a bit old-fashioned. However, Regis had not been in the city for a long time.  
"What did you want to show me?" he finally asked.  
Anies pointed to a table in the middle of the room, not unlike a dining table, although there were only two chairs at it. On top of it lay a thick tome, carefully cleaned of any dust - or maybe it was simply in frequent use. Curious, Regis approached. The other vampire pointed with his index finger at a passage in the book, and Regis bent over to read it. 

"Ah, an edition of 'Conjunction of the Spheres'," he said after a quick glance at the page. "What's it to you?"  
"Doesn't it bother you at all?" Anies asked. Regis looked up at him in surprise.  
"We've lived here for so long..."  
"Yes, but haven't you ever thought about what it would be like if we could go back?"  
"Go _back_? I'm not old enough to know the world before this one, and you certainly aren't. Besides, it's impossible, you know that."  
"But maybe not," Anies called out, clapping his hands as if he was happy for himself.   
"Meaning?" Regis inquired.  
"That there might be a way to use magic to create a second conjunction of the spheres and make up for the injustice.“

Regis frowned.  
"The _injustice_?" he asked. "We don't know enough about it at all to judge."  
"We know enough to know that this is not our world“, the other vampire replied harshly.  
"Anies", Regis said calmly. "No magic in the world will undo the conjunction of the spheres. Whoever has promised you this is wrong and manipulates you. Apparently to do what he - or she - wants you to do. Isn't that true?“

"And if it were?"   
The young vampire's voice sounded angry, but also a little defiant. And now Regis understood. He's seen it before, more often than he'd like. With vampires and other creatures, but also with magicians, though for the very opposite reason. In any case, over the centuries the conjunction of the spheres had taken on a kind of religious dimension for some - whether they wanted to transfigure, repeat or even reverse this process. Anies was not old enough to be desperate, but not too young to be blinded.  
  
"What exactly have you been promised?" he asked softly.  
"Let's call it a kind of inheritance," Anies replied cautiously.   
"All right, I understand if you don't want to give me any details," Regis said, tapping thoughtlessly on the book on the table. "But..." and now he looked directly at the other vampire, "tell me who made you invade Aretuza. And for what purpose."  
Anies laughed again.   
"As always so straight, Emiel," he said.  
"But you've already made it clear that you can hardly understand my motives. So let me just tell you, don't interfere. Stay out of it. I've done my part, and I won't bother you and your ... friends any more."

Regis looked him right in the eyes.   
"To me it doesn't seem like you've fulfilled anything," he commented. "From my point of view, your task was to take the Emperor away. Well, from a building full of sorceresses, high above an island, that's a task that hardly anyone else but a vampire should be able to accomplish. Assuming that other sorceresses involved didn't want to get their hands dirty, but certainly appreciated the advantages of an arrangement that included the temporary whereabouts of the person you wanted.“

"You always were very perceptive," Anies remarked.   
"We never knew each other so well," Regis claimed.  
"But I seem to be right in my assumptions. Which means there's another person involved. A sorceress, a mage, because after all, I don't suppose that the venerable Miss Laux-Antille has been very much involved in the conjunction of the spheres over the last few years. Although", he went on, while he tapped his nose in a lost state of thought, "I still think that you are misled here, my dear one.“

"You don't have to worry about that," replied the other. "I will get the information I hoped for anyway. After all, a mage is only a tool.“  
Regis nodded slowly, although this was not to be taken as an agreement.  
"A strange alliance," he remarked. "A strange idea for a human to get involved with a vampire."  
"You of all people are saying that?" said Anies, again laughing softly.  
"You have surrounded yourself with humans. Not the first time, I hear."  
"Some would hardly call witchers human."  
"And others not sorceresses," was the answer.

"I admit that," Regis said. "Now then. I don't suppose you'll tell me who is really behind this? Or what the purpose of the attack was?"  
Anies shook his head, smiling. But as he continued speaking, he flashed his teeth briefly. It was hard to tell if he actually thought it was worth threatening another vampire. Or if that was what he really intended.   
"No, I don't think I will, at least not as far as the person is concerned whose name we've been sneaking around like cats around the bush. But the motive, my dear Emiel, the motive is as old as the world."


	24. Skalds and shadows

  
— 23 —  
  
How bitter your treason  
How bitter the lie  
  
**Skalds and shadows  
  
**

It was pointless to ask the crowd, now heated up by music and plenty of alcohol, about the bard, who obviously hadn't shown up today. Geralt decided to ask the innkeeper - as he had learned some time ago, he had only been hired because he was a great admirer of Dandelion. It seemed obvious that he might know more about his whereabouts - although it was doubtful if he really knew more than Priscilla. 

It turned out that the man was indeed a wealth of knowledge about the poet he adored. In any case - at least that was Lambert's opinion, which he later passed on to Geralt without being asked - he understood more about Dandelion than about good beer (which he nevertheless had drunk without complaining). The innkeeper claimed to have noticed tensions between the lovers, which the bard however had denied. And besides - as he had emphasized several times - it was none of his business. But he knew about the "secret hiding place" on the roof, which didn't surprise Geralt at all - Dandelion had never been really good at keeping a secret, and he was by no means subtle. After all, the innkeeper even admitted to have followed the bard secretly once or twice, after he had often taken longer "walks", which had always lasted several hours.

"He went into the forest," he said. "I did not follow him further than the edge of the forest, it seemed somehow indecent."  
"What was he doing in the forest?" Geralt asked.   
The innkeeper shrugged.  
"I guess he was listening to the songs of the birds there," he replied. "Very inspiring."  
"You think he goes to the forest to write songs there?" Lambert asked. He sounded as if it was a completely absurd idea, but Geralt nodded slowly and said: "Quite possible. But he's never been away that long?"  
The innkeeper looked a bit unhappy.   
"No, not really. And it's a pity he didn't show up for his performance tonight."  
Geralt glanced briefly at the stage where Priscilla had just sung a new song; a slow melody with sad lyrics, where quite a few of the audience wept a couple of tears. He was only glad that it was not this particular other song.

"Do you remember exactly where he went? The place where he entered the forest, can you describe it?"  
The man frowned.  
"Not by any stretch of the imagination," he replied. "It was to the east, not too far from town, but that's all I remember. Unfortunately, to me, trees are just trees. To Master Dandelion, they are a source of inspiration."  
"So he could be in practically any forest?" Lambert muttered gruffly.  
„I don't think so", said Geralt. "Dandelion is extremely predictable when it comes to such things. I suspect he has found some kind of special place. And when he does, he would always go there."  
„And how do you suppose we're going to find that _special place_?"   
„We'll find his smell, we’ll find traces, whatever, but we’ll find him", Geralt said. Lambert did not like the look in his eyes.   
"Wait, now? In the middle of the night? That's insane. We won't find anything.“  
"Yes, now. If that guard has him, we have no time to lose. And besides, if we don't do it now…"

He broke off, avoiding Lamberts eyes, and Lambert finally understood. All the finely calculated effects of the potions would soon wear off. It would be too dangerous to repeat it after such a short time - and they had run out of some ingredients. Swallow would have to be enough from then on, and that was not much, after all they had experienced with this damned spell so far. Geralt was right, they had no time to waste. And if the ex-guard really had Dandelion, it might have been their only chance to learn more about the one who cast the spell.

"All right," Lambert said. "We'll do it your way. It's fucking stupid, but let's go."  
"You don't think Master Dandelion's in trouble, do you?" the innkeeper asked.   
"Just keep it to yourself, and especially don't tell Priscilla what we're up to," Geralt warned him. The man nodded, and before they left the place, Lambert gave him an extra unpleasant look - to make sure he remembered. 

"Do you really think this guy is involved?" Lambert asked when they were outside. "He might as well be long gone by now. Even if he's hiding out in the city at all."  
"Maybe he was a bit too full of himself," Geralt said as he unhitched the horses and handed Lambert the black horse's reins. "He didn't finish whatever he wanted."  
"What he _wanted_ was obviously to cut your throat," Lambert said dryly.  
"I don't know", Geralt replied. They slowly drove the horses forward towards the city gate. "I thought about it for a while. Why should Dandelion's appearance really dissuade him from his plan? That's no way for a cold-blooded killer to behave.“

Lambert shrugged.   
"Then what did he want?"  
"I don't know", Geralt admitted. "I hope we can ask him."  
"If we find him," Lambert said gloomily.   
"I told you, you're not such a bad tracker. Prove me that I was right," Geralt said.  
Lambert looked at him in surprise.  
"Did you just grin?"  
"I never grin," mumbled Geralt.  
  
  
They left the city in an easterly direction, heading for the trees, which were sparse in the beginning because they had already been felled abundantly here, but soon became denser and denser and ended up in a small wood.  
Geralt dismounted and approached the edge of the forest.   
"Over there, looks like trampled grass," said Lambert, who had a better view from his position. Geralt followed his gaze, stepped closer to the undergrowth and lowered himself to one knee. He carefully stroked the grass and said, "Definitely looks like him, dramatically cutting through the bushes.“

Lambert now also dismounted, took the reins of both horses and looked for a place to tie them up.   
"Surely not an animal?" he asked.   
"Take a look for yourself."  
Lambert came closer and examined the undergrowth.  
"Still, it'll be hard to follow," he said.   
Geralt raised his hand briefly and tilted his head.  
"Wait. Do you smell that?"  
Lambert sniffed theatrically.   
"No, what... Wait. Bugger it, what's that?" He pulled a wry face. "Dead animal mixed with cheap perfume?"  
"It's some kind of spice, not an animal," Geralt said. "And certainly not some _cheap_ perfume.“  
„I don’t know how you did it. That guy walked around with you for years and he smelled like this?"  
"I just didn't _sniff_ him, Geralt growled. "Come on.“  
They made their way into the bushes, following in equal measure the fleeting remnants of the obtrusive smell that no one but them would have noticed, and the traces of the bard, who had tried to be inconspicuous but still left enough traces for attentive observers.   
The night was starry, but the smoke in some distance would have been hard to miss anyway. 

"Is he camping in the forest?" Lambert asked incredulously. "So close to the city? I can hardly imagine that he couldn't find his way back..."  
"I can imagine all kinds of things," muttered Geralt, obviously in a bad mood.  
"Wait, you don't think he has a romantic get-together in the forest, do you?" Lambert asked with a grin. "That would certainly explain a lot."  
"I hope not for his sake," mumbled Geralt. "He should really have sown his wild oats by now."  
"We should definitely... well, be discreet," said Lambert. 

They followed the smoke. In fact, the scent of the perfume could also still be followed - in exactly the same direction, as Geralt noticed. If the explanation for Dandelion's disappearance and his apparently strange behavior really turned out to be something like that, he would probably beat him up. Anyway, he was in the mood for it. 

"Stop," Lambert suddenly said sharply. He pointed to the ground, only a few steps away from them.   
"More tracks," said Geralt and inspected the forest soil more closely. Lambert did the same and muttered: "But certainly not a delicate young lady. Unless your bard friend has been meeting up with some 200-pounders, I'd say we've found what we're looking for after all."  
The tracks clearly came from boots, they were deep, which suggested a heavier man, and they headed sideways towards the very faint tracks in the forest floor, which Dandelion had left now and then. In fact, he had destroyed more undergrowth right in front of him than he had really stepped on. Geralt couldn't say that this was really good news, after all it might mean that the bard was really in the hands of the former guard. 

They slowly approached the smoke of the campfire, even quieter than before, not overlooking the deep dark cave to their left. The smell changed noticeably.  
"Why would anyone build a fire so close to a cave full of Nekkers?" Lambert whispered.  
"The real question is, why are there Nekkers in the cave," mumbled Geralt back. "Can't be many, but too close to town."  
"May have lost their chieftain. That confuses them sometimes," Lambert said.   
"Cities spread out, habitats disappear - this is not a quiz, Lambert, let's just hope that those inside aren't interested in this little fire right now."  
There were hardly any traces of the Nekkers, which at least fed the hope that they didn't leave their cave too often. Maybe they were dead already, but the smell was too mixed up with the perfume to be sure.

They sneaked past the cave and now came so close to the fire that they could hear the crackling of wood in the flames. Geralt saw that there was a clearing almost directly in front of him, still hidden by dense wood and ancient trees. He took a careful step towards a bush, quietly pushed some branches aside and peered through.   
There was indeed Dandelion, apparently... asleep? He sat leaning against a tree, Geralt also noticed the bound hands. And yes, there was the man who had once been an imperial guard and now looked as if he had urgently needed to get rid of some flashy armour. He stood in front of the fire, alternately warming his hands on it and poking around in it with small branches. Geralt didn't recognize any weapon.

"I'm going in," he said quietly to Lambert. "You come from behind." Lambert nodded, already had a sword in his hand and sneaked sideways around the grove, which wrapped around the clearing almost like a ring. 

Geralt tried to lift his right arm to reach for his own sword, but his grip was still too unsteady and the movement caused him an unpleasant feeling, which made him realize that the pain was not far away any longer. He cursed inwardly and renounced the sword for the time being. Half groping, he searched for a spot in the undergrowth through which he would fit - he was taller than Dandelion, and with his armour he would have a harder time than the slender bard who had probably squeezed himself through somewhere. In any case, the guard had not crawled through the bushes at this point. Finally Geralt found a spot that seemed to be suitable for him and simply broke through the bushes.

The element of surprise was on his side in any case, because obviously the man had not expected him. He recoiled - and stumbled directly into Lambert's arms, who drilled the sword into his back and politely told him to just stand still if he didn't want to be pierced.   
The Nilfgaardian froze. Then he suddenly grinned.  
"I knew this would work," he said. "Take the bard out of the game, you have the witcher. But it's a bit unfair that you brought a friend along."  
"Yes, very funny little game", Geralt replied in a voice that implied that he viewed things completely different.   
Lambert, who apparently didn't think that the former guard was a greater danger, freed Dandelion from his bonds in the meantime. The bard had actually slept - _typical_ , Geralt thought - and now opened his eyes in confusion.

"Oh dear heaven. What are you doing here in the middle of the night?" he asked, quite stupidly, as he had to admit to himself.   
"Obviously someone needs rescuing," growled Lambert.   
"Well, two witchers at once, that's very flattering... Wait, you were looking for this guy, weren't you?"  
"And for you," Geralt replied. "You could at least try not to get yourself into trouble for once.“

The former guard was, without a sword in his back, much cockier - which proved that he was crazy, Dandelion thought, because he was facing _witchers_ after all. He might have been lucky once and had possessed a magically enhanced weapon, but now he really had nothing but a big mouth.   
"I guess we could still come to some sort of arrangement, despite everything," he said.  
"Come to an agreement?" Geralt hissed, bridged the distance between them with one step and kicked the guy's legs away with such force that he fell to his knees cursing.   
"Now it's going to be fun," Lambert murmured. 

Geralt had pulled the steel sword with his left hand and pressed it onto the man's chest.  
"Who ordered the attack?" he asked.   
The guy blinked in surprise.  
"You don't know that yet? Well… good for me, right?"  
"Your chances of survival are rapidly decreasing right now," Geralt said, at the end of his patience.   
"Listen," the other one started, but Geralt interrupted him, pressing the tip of the sword more strongly into his chest: "The name.“

Obviously the man now realized that the matter was more serious than he had imagined. Something had gone wrong - again. He groped for the small dagger he had captured from the bard, but his clumsy attempts to disguise it were pointless. Lambert kicked the weapon out of his hand almost with boredom, as soon as he had managed to pull it out of his pockets.   
"Listen," he started again, and at that moment Dandelion, gesticulating wildly, shouted, "Holy shit!“  
  
Geralt and Lambert turned their heads in the direction Dandelion had pointed, just in time to see Nekkers pushing through the branches and twigs. Right now, the former palace guard showed his presence of mind - he jumped up, hurting himself a little on Geralt's sword, for its pressure hadn't let up at all. Then he ran towards the gap he had torn in the woods himself when he had pursued Dandelion.

"Don't run!" Geralt shouted, which the guy undoubtedly understood as a call not to flee, while it was meant completely different.   
The Nekkers - five, Geralt thought fleetingly, only five, just dangerous enough, but no chieftain, no warrior - pounced on them, but two of them jumped right after the traitor. Even Dandelion knew that you should never, ever run away from a Nekker. Especially not with a wound, no matter how little it bled, and the sword had caused little more than a scratch on the man's chest, but there was blood and running booty - it was enough for the Nekkers.   
They practically tore him to pieces, and while their sharp claws went through his flesh and his screams echoed through the forest Geralt thought: _Shit, we won't get anything more out of him_. And then he had no more time to think about it. 

Lambert had placed himself in front of Dandelion, who wisely continued to crouch on the ground and moved as little as possible. He squinted at the dagger, his dagger, but it was out of reach, and he didn't believe that a dagger would have been of any great use in this matter. Two Nekkers attacked Lambert, one turned to Geralt, who moved backwards to finally be back-to-back with the other witcher, which improved the defense of all of them.  
But the remaining two Nekkers were soon done with their little flesh-fest and now attacked the witchers. 

The problem was not how fast they were - Lambert and Geralt were faster in any case - but that there were five of them. On the other hand, five were not enough to carry out their preferred attack tactics - it was hardly possible to encircle the witchers. All they could do was to attack as fast as possible and as hard as possible. And all the witchers could do was fend off this first attack and then counterattack. The claws came from almost all sides, but both Lambert and Geralt each killed a Nekker by a turn that was as fast as it was almost elegant.

One backed away, just enough to show that he was the weak link in the group. Geralt put an end to him at one quick sweep.   
"Down!" Dandelion suddenly yelled and Geralt went down on his knees, tearing his head and torso back just in time to avoid the sharp claws of another attacker. One or two quick advances by Lambert were enough and a head with wide open eyes rolled into Dandelion's vicinity. The bard flinched and, disgusted, pushed the bleeding mass aside with his foot. The last Nekker fought on pure instinct - and exhaled his life, because the instinct of a witcher was far superior to his own. 

Now all of them were wiped out. Geralt, who had briefly made sure that there was really nothing left of the Nilfgaarder but tattered remains, cursed loudly.   
"That was the best lead we had. If Regis didn't get anywhere with the vampire, we're screwed." Then he turned to Dandelion, who was clinging to the tree like it could have protected him somehow.   
"You all right?"  
Dandelion blinked, nodded and slowly got up.   
"Yeah. Yeah, I think so. Thanks for your help. I think I'm gonna puke."  
"Save it," growled Lambert.  
"Thank you very much, too," mumbled Dandelion and tapped off his clothes. "Oh, and as for that one," he then said, pointing cursory at the remains of the palace guard - whereupon he choked briefly, but caught himself again immediately - "he has been chattering all night."  
"Meaning?" Geralt asked.  
"That the guy was just a greedy little asshole. He got involved with some sorceress for a shitload of gold, just like his buddy, the other guard. The guy who stabbed you. At least that's what he told me, I thought it was him all along. In any case, they were both bribed by a sorceress to betray the Emperor.“

"By fooling around with a magical weapon? Sounds crazy," Lambert remarked.  
"But logical in a twisted way," Dandelion said. "Surely you don't need a magic weapon to attack the Emperor. Suppose you don't want to kill him at all, but to do something else, whatever it is. He was not very specific about that, I suppose he was not further initiated. Apparently the plan was indeed to hurt Geralt and use him as leverage. But somehow it went wrong."  
"I heard fighting noises," Geralt replied. "But I don't think we were supposed to leave the room. They were surprised. One acted rashly, the other saw a chance to get rid of his rival."  
"Apparently that's what happened," said Dandelion. "But that only caused chaos, and then suddenly he was supposed to take you to Novigrad. He improvised and wondered if he could get more out of it."  
"But I think some sorceress was actually after the Emperor," Lambert said irritated. "He was in Aretuza, she could have struck there."  
"Yes, but you see, it was all supposed to take place in the palace."  
Geralt stared at Dandelion.  
„So the sorceress was there all the time. She was in the palace when the attack took place. Well, of course, someone had to be in charge of these spirits..."  
"What spirits?" Dandelion asked, confused.   
"...and she took your swords and armor with her, for whatever reason,“ Lambert added. "It was maybe never intended that the Emperor should go to Aretuza.“

Geralt nodded.   
"The vampire may have been a kind of reserve. The plan had to change quickly, she had to adapt."  
"But still someone must have told her that you were in Aretuza."  
"Exactly. She did not send the vampire beforehand, but as soon as she found out about it."  
"Regis said that the other vampire could never have come to Aretuza so quickly“, Lambert said.   
"Fine, but maybe the assumption that he was in Maribor is wrong. Maybe he was much closer."  
"Fascinating, I seem to have missed a lot," Dandelion remarked. "But I would prefer to go home now, to be honest. My head is spinning from all this conspiracy stuff. I mean, I'd like to help you, really, but sorceresses, vampires and so on..."  
"This is really not for you," Geralt said. "Come on, let's get you back to town. You should be safe now.“

They left the clearing by squeezing through the bushes again - though the Nekkers had left some bigger gaps - and had to calm the horses first, who had panicked and strayed through the forest during the attack.   
"As soon as the bard is safe, we will ride back to Wyzima," Lambert said. Geralt nodded.  
"And then we will pay Margarita a visit in Aretuza," he added. "She has something to do with this. Dandelion, you can mount up behind me."  
"Thank goodness," muttered the bard softly.  
"I heard that," Lambert said unmoved.

While they rode back to Novigrad, Geralt said: "Some people say you've been acting strange lately, Dandelion."  
" _Some people_? Ah yes, who are these _people_?" Dandelion uttered.   
"Come on, something's obviously wrong?"   
Geralt turned around in the saddle to look at him, but the bard avoided his gaze.  
"I might tell you about it someday," he said. Geralt frowned, but said nothing more.

At the gates of Novigrad they said a hearty farewell to each other - in Lambert's case it was probably more like a short farewell that ended in an angry look when Dandelion patted him on the shoulder in a friendly manner.   
"Say hello to Priscilla for us, we left quite hastily", Geralt said.   
"All right", Dandelion replied. "You know, maybe we really should talk. If you... if you've got your affairs in order."  
He nodded at them one last time and disappeared in the city after a short discussion with the guards.

"Back to Wyzima then?" Lambert asked and set off to get back on the horse - when they had said goodbye to Dandelion, they had dismounted for a moment. It had not escaped his notice that Geralt had pressed his hand into his side as soon as the bard had left.   
"We might be back in time before..."  
"Too late", Geralt said curtly, pulled back his hand and displayed a bloody palm to Lambert.


	25. Dead of the night

— 24 —  
  
My sense grows far too dense  
  
**Dead of the night  
  
**

They rode back to Wyzima as fast as possible, Geralt had insisted on that - not only did he want to go back as fast as he could to push things forward, he also wanted to get the ride over with, as it couldn't be pleasant anyway. Lambert covered him in a number of creative swearwords because he knew that it was all he could do in this matter - and partly to suppress his concern. 

By the time they reached the city gates, Geralt practically only clung to Roach's neck, his face buried in her mane, into which he quietly cursed from time to time. It didn't bother her much, she was quite used to carrying an injured witcher, but whenever his grip became a bit looser, she snorted nervously as if she feared he would fall.   
He didn't fall, but when they finally reached the palace his attempt to get off her back came quite close. Lambert finally had enough. He had climbed off without a word from the beautiful black horse, stroked his mane again almost regretfully, then took the reins of both horses and roared the stable boy out of his sleep to press them into his hand.   
Then he turned to Geralt, who didn't even try to hide the fact that he had to hold on to a wall to stand upright, and said, "I'll bandage you up again, and then you'll rest."  
"I don't have time to sleep," Geralt growled.  
"And I don't have time to hold you constantly so that you won't fall over. It's getting worse by the looks of it. If you want to turn this into a stubbornness contest, fine. I think I've got the better hand now."  
Then he went on, much more conciliatory, "Listen, there's still a few hours before sunrise. Everyone's asleep anyway. You want to go accusing a sorceress, fine, I don't mind. But please, in a slightly better state."  
"Did you just say please?"   
"You must have misheard. Now come on.“

Geralt was actually no longer in the mood to contradict and followed Lambert. He had taken guest quarters in the palace and stored some of his equipment there.   
"Sit down on the bed", he said, while he was gathering the bandages, and Geralt found the bed looking really tempting at the moment.   
Lambert carefully removed the swords and placed them at the wall, then he removed Geralt's harness silently and with the expert's nimble movements. Changing the bandages was much more difficult - the cloth was drenched with blood and stuck to the skin. Regis' earlier attempts to sew up the injury were clearly visible, and also that this had not worked. Lambert - who had seen enough wounds to know that this one did not look or act normal, witcher or no witcher - avoided the remark that they really, really needed to do something about it as he carefully cleaned the wound and applied new bandages.   
  
Meanwhile no sound came from Geralt, only his glassy eyes indicated that he had passed some point. When Lambert was finished, even the bare floor seemed to be a valid way to spend the rest of the night, and when he got up, the floor came so close for a moment that it almost became reality. Lambert grabbed his arm, muttered something and then said, "You can lie down here if you want to, but..."  
"No", Geralt replied, as he slowly and carefully walked to the door.  
"Do you need..."  
"No", he said again. "Thank you."  
It was almost as if he was walking through a dream in which one could only move forward with considerable resistance. He left the room, crossed the corridors and finally stood before the guarded door of Emhyr's chambers, almost without knowing exactly how he got there.

The guards looked at him suspiciously. It was the middle of the night, and yes, he was Geralt of Rivia, the witcher, who was to be granted access at all times. But he was also half-naked, wearing only the medallion on his upper body. Despite Lambert's careful efforts, blood was already visible on the bandages again, and his eyes - a disturbing sight for most people anyway - seemed even stranger than usual. The guards threw nervous glances at each other, but they neither dared to disobey the Emperor's order nor to mess with a witcher, and finally, albeit hesitantly, they cleared the way without Geralt having said a word at all. 

Geralt reached the bedroom, which was not completely in darkness that night - Emhyr had a habit of not closing the curtains. He couldn't get him out of it, it had taken him long enough to convince him that open windows while sleeping, even at this height, were not a good idea.  
He approached the bed quietly. Emhyr lay on his belly, and although the bed was a luxurious size, he had spread out so much that he took up most of the space. This was so typical that Geralt had to smile although he didn't feel like it. He sat down carefully on the edge of the bed, stripped off his boots, but was too tired to take care of his trousers - Emhyr would definitely complain later, but right now he didn't care. 

Geralt lay down beside him, carefully taking the little space he had left him. He carefully lifted Emhyr's arm so he could get even closer and finally placed the other's hand on his chest, holding it there with his own. He ignored the throbbing pain emanating from his side, concentrated on his breath and watched Emhyr's sleeping face as long as he could until his eyes finally dropped shut.


	26. Some kind of monster

— 25 —  
  
This is the moment that needs to breathe  
These are the claws that scratch these wounds  
This is the pain that never leaves  
  
**Some kind of monster  
  
**

As usual, Emhyr awoke shortly before sunrise, a trained habit in the face of duties for which a day never seemed to have enough hours. His impulse to move was stopped by some kind of obstacle, and he opened his eyes to a very welcome sight. His hand was trapped in the even in his sleep firm grip of the witcher. Nevertheless, the sight unsettled him - he looked exhausted, as if even sleep could not change that. Probably he just hadn't been back very long, but Emhyr had the feeling that this was not the reason. Even more disturbing was that the bandages around his body at his side were almost bright red from a fresh bleeding.

He tried to carefully free his hand from Geralt's grip without waking him. It was time to get up, to start the day in which there were enough things to worry about.  
"Don't", Geralt suddenly murmured and reached for his hand again.  
Emhyr sighed.  
"I thought you were asleep."  
"I _am_ asleep."  
Emhyr put his other hand on Geralt's and said in earnest, "I wish that were true. You don't look well."  
Geralt suddenly opened his eyes.  
"There are a few things we need to discuss," he said.   
"You're distracting," Emhyr replied.   
"No," Geralt said insistently, "I think we need to..."  
"You don't _need_ to do anything but rest," said Emhyr in a voice suggesting that he was ready to bring imperial authority to bear if necessary. He gently freed himself from Geralt's grip.  
"I mean it."  
"Me too", Geralt said, not willing to give in.   
"We have to talk to Triss about Margarita.“

He sat up - more cumbersome than expected - and looked around the room until he remembered the rest of his belongings were still in Lambert's room.  
Emhyr frowned.  
"You found something?"  
"Not exactly", Geralt admitted. "Is Regis back yet?"   
Emhyr shook his head.  
"Not that I know of."  
"It would be good to know what he experienced, if he was successful at all," said Geralt as he carefully swung out of bed and reached for his boots.

Emhyr cursed, whereupon Geralt turned to him in surprise - the man usually had such a grip on himself that he couldn't remember if he had ever heard him curse before.  
"You're a damn stubborn ass", Emhyr said.   
"I've heard that many times before, but not from you yet", Geralt replied astonished.  
"Probably it was not necessary until now."  
"You're angry", Geralt stated.  
"I am not _angry_ ", Emhyr said while he was rising and reaching for his clothes. "Or maybe I am, because I am worried.“   
"Well, I feel the same way," Geralt said. "And I am _certainly_ pissed off. So we should finally find out what's going on and put an end to it."  
Emhyr looked towards the window.  
"The sun is just coming up. When did you get back?"  
"You don't want to know," Geralt grumbled. 

Emhyr, now already dressed, came closer and sat down next to him.  
"Promise me to at least think about this magical knickknack that Merigold has done with you before," he demanded.   
Geralt laughed softly.  
"Interesting way to describe it."  
"Geralt." Emhyr suddenly reached for his face and forced Geralt to look at him.  
Geralt sighed.  
"Maybe," he said. "If necessary..."  
"I think so. Now come. Breakfast, and then we'll talk to the others."  
  
—

Food never missed its effect on Geralt, and so his mood had actually improved a bit, if not his condition. He had collected his things and also Lambert, who likewise hadn't slept anymore despite the early hour. After he had let him patch himself up rudimentary, they met the others in Emhyr's makeshift study. 

"Regis is still not back?" Geralt asked. He still didn't like the thought of Regis meeting this other vampire alone. It was irrational to think that way, he knew that himself - no one could seriously have an interest in being involved when it came to higher vampires. But perhaps his senses were particularly sensitive in this respect since everything they had experienced with Dettlaff.   
"Not since you asked the last time," Emhyr said in a dry voice and continued: "So what have you learned?“  
"Well, we found your former hired hand," Geralt replied. Emhyr raised his eyebrows, but said nothing about the way Geralt described an imperial guard - after all, the man had been a traitor.  
"And the bard," Lambert interjected. "Had managed to let himself be kidnapped by this guy."  
"Is he okay?" asked Triss.  
„He’s fine," Geralt replied. "Anyway, the guy told Dandelion that he was hired by a sorceress, just like the second guard."  
"So he made a good price for his betrayal?" Emhyr asked grimly.  
"In the end rather not", Geralt said.   
He briefly reported what they had learned from Dandelion - and that the guard had not given away any name before he died.  
"This is all just a game to her," said Mikaela.   
"To whom?" Triss asked in surprise.  
"To whoever is behind all this," replied the sorceress.   
"So you don't think it's Margarita?" Emhyr asked.   
Mikaela shook her head, and Triss said: "I don't think that's likely either. Rita is not interested in politics, I hardly think she would be involved in such intrigues. But on the other hand, curses are her specialty."  
"You said it was some malediction, not a curse", Emhyr interjected.   
"Sure, but technically it doesn't make much difference, it's just something she's very good at. The magically enhanced weapon and what happened to Mikaela are both of similar design. But what has obscured the magical traces here in the palace is something completely different. A different kind of magic, even more powerful - so powerful, in any case, that Mikaela couldn't find it."  
"We should talk to this headmistress," Lambert suggested. 

"Exactly my opinion", Regis was suddenly heard, who had entered the room completely unnoticed by everyone.   
"There you are," said Geralt, relieved. "Have you found the vampire?"  
Before Regis could answer, Lambert said: "You look somehow strange."  
He approached Regis and watched him attentively. Lambert might not always be the most subtle character, but he was extraordinarily alert. Yet his advance seemed strange.  
"This is not a particularly creative insult," the vampire replied calmly, but slightly disturbed.  
"And yes, indeed, I found him. I assure you, he is of no particular interest to this investigation. I would suggest that the sorceresses have a talk with the headmistress to find out how she is involved. In the meantime, there is something I want to show you both," he finally turned to Geralt and Emhyr.  
Geralt looked at him irritated.  
"What do you want to show us?"  
Lambert suddenly snapped his fingers.  
"Now I know - something with the eyes," he said and turned himself directly in front of Regis to look into his eyes.   
"This is a very strange behaviour," Regis said.  
"One could say the same about you," Lambert claimed.  
"Lambert?" Geralt had the feeling that something was getting out of hand, but he couldn't put his finger on what it was. Lambert had spent some time with Regis, but he had always made it clear that he was not fond of dealing with a vampire at all. Nevertheless, the thought was absurd that he should suddenly be bothered by his appearance. 

"Wait, I demand an explanation about this vampire," said Emhyr. "He's hardly of no interest after he attacked us. Did you kill him before he could talk?“  
Regis laughed softly. For some reason that sound made Geralt's hair stand on end.  
"Unlike you humans, we don't constantly feel the need to exterminate each other," he replied.   
Mikaela and Triss suddenly looked at each other as if they both had a strange kind of intuition. They nodded to one another and stood up slowly. Geralt noticed and looked briefly towards Triss, who pointed in Regis direction with a short nod. He still didn't understand it.

"What is his... his specialty?" Lambert asked abruptly.   
"Pardon me?" Regis asked confusedly.  
Lambert pointed at Geralt and said: "Geralt once told me something you have said to him: That every vampire has a special ability, something that he is especially good at. Not just turning into smoke or that bat thing."  
"What does it matter?" Regis asked.   
"Maybe I'm just curious," Lambert said. "Maybe I'm the only one here who somehow has the feeling that something is wrong."  
"Curiosity is undoubtedly a very human quality," said Regis, almost absent-minded.   
"But he's right," Triss said softly. "Something's not right here.“

"The only thing wrong here is that we all beat around the bush. I have no time for that," Emhyr said heatedly. "Especially Geralt has no time for it. We need a solution, I don't care what it looks like, and if anyone believes the headmistress of Aretuza can help us in this matter - even if she denied it so far - then I am in favour of dealing with her again. If necessary, I will have soldiers bring her here and question her personally."  
"That takes too long," Lambert replied. "I agree that we are running out of time. Whatever magic is at work here, potions will hardly hold it back any longer."  
"It's a progressing spell, that's true," Triss interjected. "We should..."  
Geralt raised his hand. "I know what you're gonna say. For all I care, we'll do it again, but only after we have talked to Margarita."  
Then, as if he had only just noticed, he turned to Regis and asked: "Why did you suggest that Triss and Mikaela talk to her alone?"  
Regis, who in the meantime had seemed conspicuously absent, bent his head as if he heard something that none of them had heard.  
"Frankly," he began, "I have a feeling that this is taking too long."  
He reached into the pockets of his dark robe and pulled out something that could only be described as a kind of small apparatus composed of shiny metals with a small crystal in the middle.  
Triss gasped. Mikaela, completely flabbergasted, asked, "Is this a portable teleport?“

"Such a thing exists?" Geralt asked, confused.  
"I've never seen one, but I've heard of it," said Triss. "Where in the world did you get that, Regis? And what do you need it for? We can open a portal to Aretuza ourselves ..."  
" _We_ will not go to Aretuza," he said and took a step towards Geralt and Emhyr, who were standing close together.   
"I have no idea what's going on, but I'd say let's all calm down now," said Lambert and positioned himself directly in front of Regis.  
"And _I_ would say, get out of the way," said Regis. Then, almost casually, he stretched out a hand and ran his fingernails, which could easily be sharp claws if he wanted to, over Lambert's left arm - so quickly and so abruptly that the force of this unexpected attack threw Lambert a few steps back. 

Almost all of them seemed to call Regis' name at the same time.  
Geralt placed himself protectively before Emhyr and then spread his arms out in a kind of soothing gesture.  
"Regis", he said in a calm, almost gentle tone. "What's wrong?"   
He glanced quickly at Lambert, who stared at his arm almost in astonishment. He was bleeding, but not too much - it had been a warning, nothing more. However, a warning that had gone right through the solid leather of his armor.  
"Nothing at all," the vampire replied, as if surprised by the question. Then he placed the device in front of him in the middle of the room.

"You need an activator for that," Triss said.   
"Sure. One of you will provide it," Regis replied with a gesture to her and Mikaela.  
"I certainly don't know any spell that activates that," Mikaela said angrily.   
"It doesn't need a spell," Regis replied. "Just a kind of... some kind of energy surge?"   
Again he tilted his head as if he heard something - or _listened_ to someone, Geralt suddenly thought. As if he had read his mind, Regis said: "Probably even Geralt could activate that with a witcher sign.“  
"I'm not activating anything", Geralt replied calmly. "If the device can really open a portal, where does it go?"  
"None of you has to worry about that. All we have to do is activate it, then we use it and it ends."  
"What ends?" Geralt asked. He received no answer. Regis had turned back to the sorceresses.  
"So which one of you will activate it?"  
"Hypnosis? Mind control? That's his specialty, isn't it?" Lambert suddenly said. "The other vampire. He's controlling him somehow."  
"That doesn't help right now, Lambert," Geralt remarked.   
"That's right," Regis commented. "We should speed things up a bit. I'll explain it again, so that everyone will understand. Someone will activate this device. The Emperor will walk through the portal with me.“

"What makes you think I'll do that?" Emhyr asked in a voice that was far too calm.  
"I can be quite convincing," Regis claimed. In the next moment - it had happened so fast that none of them could have claimed to have even seen the movement - he stood next to Geralt. With a single flowing movement he pulled a long, metal syringe from the shallows of his robes and rammed it directly into Geralt's neck. Before anyone could make a sound of surprise, Geralt collapsed, and Regis caught him with an elegant movement.  
"Well," he then said. "Maybe now we'll talk about this portal again."


	27. Now that we're dead

— 26 —  
  
When loss has won  
May it be  
It’s you I’m madly fighting for  
  
**Now that we’re dead  
  
**

"What have you done?"   
Emhyr's voice had never been so dark. He looked at the vampire as if he couldn't - no, as if he didn't want to believe he'd been betrayed again. Not like that. He looked at Geralt, motionless, unconscious, maybe worse. Regis held him loosely with just one arm, but he didn't let him fall, didn't let him drop to the ground. 

"I told you, some kind of mind control", Lambert said. It was so ironic that he, of all people, had noticed that something was wrong. But he had already seen this. It was always in the eyes. Lambert might be the fundamentally suspicious type, but his instincts were usually right. He had just begun to get used to the strange vampire. Not that he liked him or even trusted him. But Geralt did. After everything they'd been through together, that was usually enough. And now look what he got out of it. Lambert weighed his options. Were there any?  
"Is this even possible between vampires?" Triss was heard.  
"You're asking the wrong questions here," Regis said calmly. With one hand, he skillfully freed Geralt from his swords and then threw them at Lambert, who, out of surprise, had difficulty catching them.

„ _What have you done?_ " Emhyr asked again in a voice that reminded everyone how dangerous he had once been, how dangerous he still could be if necessary. He approached Regis, ignoring Mikaela, who helplessly uttered a "Don't!", as if he had completely forgotten what kind of creature he was dealing with. Maybe that was the case, maybe he didn't care.   
Regis actually looked surprised.   
"Oh, don't worry," he said with a glance at Geralt. "It's only a sedative. Pretty strong, I admit, witcher and all. That's not what should worry you. I just enriched it a bit to prevent the haemostasis completely. That's actually the interesting point here, and the reason why we should hurry up with this portal.“

"You want to let him bleed to death?"   
Lambert didn't care who he was dealing with anymore. He drew the silver sword - if he couldn't kill the vampire, hurting him was always an option. If only to distract him. Give anyone a chance to do _anything_. But a single glance from the Emperor held him back.   
"Stop it," he said. Then, addressed to Regis, "What happens if we go through that portal?"  
"Emhyr," Mikaela shouted protestingly. He didn't even notice her, but Triss saw she was angry, but also willing to act, no matter how pointless it may be. She raised her hand, but Triss stopped her.   
"Don't," she whispered. Not only would it have been complete madness to use magic against the vampire, it would have been dangerous for all of them. 

And perhaps it wasn't necessary. Triss had no idea what abilities vampires possessed, at least not when it came to those kind of abilities. But some things were striking: He could have killed them all with ease, he only needed one person to charge the crystal. He didn't do it. He used Geralt as leverage, but he still held him, and not without care. He had attacked Lambert, but he had chosen the left arm, not the right, and he had only used a fraction of his powers. Was it possible that he - if, as Lambert believed, he was really not in control of his senses - fought it? Was it then still possible to reach him? It was at least worth a try.

"As I've been told," Regis replied now, and one might think that he emphasized this strangely, "you'll meet the person there who is responsible for all this.“   
"What about Geralt?"  
"That depends on how the conversation ends, I think. I wouldn't wait too long to decide. I don't know if anybody here has any idea how long it takes an ordinary human to bleed to death. And I don't know if you really want to trust that it takes that much longer with a witcher."   
"Then leave him here where they can help him, and I'll go with you," said Emhyr.   
"You won't," said Triss fiercely. "Regis, you don't have to do that. Come to your senses and think about what you're doing.“

The vampire disregarded her completely and replied, "I'm afraid it only works that way - both or neither, but that's an alternative you'd better not consider."  
Lambert came forward unexpectedly and said: "I'll do it."  
And without further ado, he thrust Aard at the crystal... and hesitantly and hissingly a teleport built up from the device, flickering at first, but finally stable.  
"Why did you do that?" Mikaela yelled at him, and he yelled back in anger: "Because then he may have a fucking chance!"   
"I think we're making progress now," Regis said. "Last chance, the teleport is not very stable. Are you coming?"  
Emhyr's gaze could not be interpreted when he stepped forward and nodded. 

"Excellent," Regis replied, and he briefly went down on his knees to finally take Geralt carefully in his arms. Then he turned around to the two sorceresses and said: "Don't try to follow the teleport. I know you can’t. There’s probably no one who can."  
He turned to Emhyr, nodded at him and said, "After you, please."  
Emhyr didn't look back, he entered the gateway of light stoically and with an icy gaze. Behind him, Regis disappeared with Geralt into the portal, and only seconds later, it fizzled, dropped and vanished, and the crystal that had been glowing a moment ago was now dead again. They were gone.

„I think he left us a message," Triss said. 

**—**

They were in some kind of tower, dozens of feet above the ground, probably in the middle of a sea, for there was only water he could see. That much Emhyr had taken from a quick glance out of the only window in the room, as soon as they had been left alone. The room was sparsely furnished - if it had ever been inhabited, the owner had long since disappeared, given the dust layer on the books in the only shelf on the wall and the broken chair on the floor. Apart from that, there was only a simple bed with a sturdy wooden frame and a tattered mattress. Regis had placed Geralt on it with extreme caution, a gesture that surprised and confused Emhyr as much as the rest of his behavior. The second vampire had been present as soon as they had left the portal, and he seemed to monitor Regis' actions. Finally, it was he who handcuffed the still unconscious witcher to the bed frame - as if he still feared he might be capable of anything when he woke up. If he woke up, Emhyr thought bitterly, and how could he do anything - without weapons, his armor now drenched in blood and in no way capable of defending himself against vampires. But still … 

No sooner had the vampires left the room - they had left without saying when they would be back, when this meeting would take place, what should happen now - and he had checked the window, he kneeled on the bed.   
Emhyr hesitated only briefly. Then he hit Geralt in the face with his hand, hard.   
"Come on", he said. He struck again.  
"Come on now", he repeated. "You're just sedated. It's running through your system like nothing. _Wake the fuck up_."  
He hit him again, harder, angry and desperate at the same time, so hard that Geralt's nose began to bleed and he feared he had broken it again. He didn't dwell on guilt, he shouted at him to wake up, and he didn't care if he was heard. 

But there _was_ someone who heard him, and he opened his eyes, still flickering. Not really able to focus, but quite able to feel.  
"I didn't know that you were into that," Geralt muttered, still a little slurred.   
"You think this is the right moment to tie me to bed and punch me in the face?"  
"You idiot," Emhyr said, relieved.  
"And now you’re insulting me again," Geralt complained. His eyes became clearer, and he tried to take in as much of his surroundings as he could - as long as he could. He tried to pull the shackle, but he hardly succeeded. Clever, he thought - they had tied up his right arm. All the control he had regained over it had almost completely disappeared. He tried to pull on the cuffs with his other arm, that too was crowned with little success. He felt that he was bleeding, he felt pain, but above all he felt that he was far to weak and getting weaker. 

"We must find out how to get out of here," Emhyr said now.   
"From where?" Geralt asked distractedly.   
"Focus." Emhyr almost sat on top of him now, holding him tight by the shoulders.  
"Can't", Geralt mumbled. He closed his eyes. Emhyr wouldn't let him, he grabbed him harder and shook him.   
"You just _spoke_ to me. Stay awake." 

He looked around feverishly, looking for something to at least temporarily stop the bleeding.   
There was nothing, so he ripped off the long robe he was wearing from his body, thought briefly about tearing it, decided against it and quickly folded it into a handy piece of cloth. Geralt still wore his armour, so he had to remove it while he told him repeatedly - and yelling at him in between - not to fall asleep. Then he pressed the cloth into Geralt's side, from which he was bleeding slowly but constantly.   
"What are you doing? Where are we?" Geralt suddenly asked him.   
"I don't know where we are", Emhyr replied. "I'm trying to keep you alive so we can get out of here."  
"Have a plan? "  
"No," replied Emhyr. "But the vague hope that your friends might know what they're doing. And that they heard the same thing from Regis' words as I did."


	28. Ride into obsession

— 27 —  
  
You hold your ground  
Until your last breath  
You’ll twist then turn  
And now you’re falling down  
  
**Ride into obsession**

  
"What do you think?" asked Mikaela. She had only known the vampire for a short time, she was completely disturbed by his behaviour. Triss had known him longer, but did she know him well enough to believe that he had wanted to tell them something specific with his last words?  
"I think he showed us a way out," Triss replied. "But we must hurry. First of all we'll go to Rita. Maybe she can tell us - no, she has to tell us where that portal leads."  
"You don't think Regis got the teleport from her, do you?"   
Triss shook her head. 

"If Margarita had been in possession of such a device, she would never have let it out of her hands for the good of the Academy," she claimed. „But magic of that kind - she knows too much about it.“  
Lambert still stood in front of the device, bent down and picked it up.   
"Can't we reactivate it?" he asked.   
"Probably not," Triss mumbled and took the device from his hand. "I told you I've never seen anything like it before, but I guess whoever enchanted it has already made sure the effect can't be repeated."  
She thought for a moment, intoned a few words, and stroked the crystal with her hand. Then she nodded in disappointment.   
"No, not a chance."  
"And we can't track the teleport, that's for sure", Mikaela interfered. "The headmistress is our only chance. I agree that she might know where it leads.“

"We're running out of time," Lambert said.   
"That's true," replied Triss and raised her arms. She reached out vigorously and created another portal, brighter and clearer than the previous one - created with great anger, passion and concern.   
"With this we should land almost directly in her study," she said grimly. "Let's go."  
They wasted no more time. In an impulse, Lambert pressed Geralt's swords against his chest to take them with him. Perhaps there was hope that Geralt could still use them. 

  
They did not end up directly in the room where Margarita retreated to work and to decide on the future of the academy. But Triss knew her way around. They were not far away. Some young students jumped to the side in dismay when they saw the two sorceresses, accompanied by a ferocious witcher, all of them with an expression on their faces as if they were going to kill someone. 

Lambert rushed in front of the sorceresses and pushed the door open as soon as it was clear that they had reached their destination. As expected, the headmistress was indeed sitting behind her desk. Next to her was another young sorceress who seemed a bit too arrogant to be a student - at least she didn't panic immediately when Lambert burst into the room. With just a few steps he overcame the distance to the desk, slammed Geralt's swords on it and bent over the table in a threatening manner.  
"What's going on here?" Margarita shouted in indignation and rose from her chair. The other sorceress looked at her curiously, but with a gesture of her hand Margarita ordered her to leave the room. Reluctantly, the woman did as she was told. 

Triss approached and placed the portable teleport on the desk.   
All her beauty could not hide the fact that Margarita turned pale.   
"What is this?" she asked.  
"You never were a good liar," Triss replied coldly. "So don't pretend you've never seen this before."  
"Well, it's a portable teleport. Very rare, but yes, I've seen one of these. Would you mind explaining why you're barging in here to insult me?"  
Mikaela stepped beside Triss and looked at Margarita in rage.   
"Did you cast a spell on me, Margarita? Did you cast a spell on the weapon Geralt was wounded with? Tell me anyone else who would have the power to do all this!"

"Have you gone mad? Who gives you the idea I had anything to do with this?" Margarita said coldly.   
"Someone has revealed that Aretuza was part of the emperor's escape plan," said Mikaela. "Only you and I knew about it. From the two of us only you would have the power to put such a curse on a weapon. Or on me - to cast suspicion on me."  
"This is sheer nonsense."  
"Is it?" said Triss. "Rita. Curses are your specialty. I don't even think you cast a spell on the dagger, but you knew about the attack, didn't you? Why did you call me of all people when Geralt showed up here unplanned? You knew that I wouldn't be able to find the one who put the curse on the weapon. This magic may even be greater than yours. But you would be able to cast a spell on Mikaela. I just don't understand why."  
"I couldn't care less why," Lambert growled. "I want to know where the portal led that was activated by this thing." 

"How should I know? Triss, you know exactly why I sent for you. You are the best healer we have left.“  
"But you had a look at the wound. You examined it. You must have known that healing alone was not enough. I've thought about it long enough. There was one person who might have been able to help. But it was too dangerous, wasn't it?"  
"What is that supposed to mean?" Lambert asked. Triss looked at him grimly.  
"Yennefer would not have hesitated to use far more unpleasant magic than I did. But she would also have been more suspicious than me. She probably would have discovered a connection to Margarita much sooner than we did.“

"You really are insane," said the headmistress with an expression of determination on her face. She moved, but Mikaela jumped forward and grabbed her arm, and Triss did the same, holding Margarita's other arm.

Lambert stared at the three of them, then suddenly turned around and rushed out of the room.  
He burst into the corridor and frightened two students who - books under their arms - had apparently just come out of the library. At the sight of him, they retreated. Lambert didn’t say a word, he hardly looked at them. One was dark-haired and wore a braid that almost reached her hips, the other had long, open hair of an indefinably dull colour. But these were not details that interested him. He reached for the braid and clawed his other hand into a tuft of hair of the other young woman. The two shrieked almost simultaneously, their books fell out of their hands. Lambert still didn't say anything, he just pulled both of them by the hair, so hard that they had to follow him screeching, so mercilessly that they both fell and he pulled them to the door by their hair. He pushed the door open with his foot so that it crashed against the wall and pulled the future sorceresses behind him into the room. The frightened girls screamed as if their lives were at stake. He dragged them right up to the desk in front of Margarita. The expression on her face was barely legible, but she tried to free herself from the other sorceresses' grasp.

Lambert dragged the students up until they were on their knees in front of Margarita. They were now sobbing, showing both bewildered and deeply frightened expressions.   
"What are you doing?" Mikaela asked confusedly, but continued to hold Margarita firmly.  
Lambert drew a sword and pressed it into the back of one of the students, causing her to cry even louder.   
"Lambert! This is going too far," Triss hissed. She had no idea what he was up to, but his expression made her more than nervous. 

"You're going to tell us what you know," he said calmly. For some reason, it was far more frightening to see him like that - freed from any emotion, while he usually seemed filled with some kind of state of constant anger at the world.   
"Otherwise, this one first has to go first," he said with a short nod of his head to the young woman he was threatening with the sword. "And then the other. And then all those I find - and I'll find every one of them, you can be sure of that. If I have to, I will burn this whole place to the ground."  
"By yourself?" Margarita scornfully said. Anger flashed in her eyes, but also a hint of fear.

He didn't answer, but apparently the determination in his gaze was enough for her.  
"You are not a hired assassin. You are a witcher. You can find other monsters."  
Lambert smiled bleakly.   
"I have done a lot of other things, believe me."  
"You won't help Geralt like this."  
"We'll see," he said. "You'll wish you had attacked someone else. Because Geralt might have shown mercy. I'm not gonna do that."  
He pressed the sword a bit harder into the student's back, just hard enough to push her body forward a bit in a pointless attempt to avoid the blade. Just hard enough to make her see that he meant business.   
"This is madness," Margarita whispered.   
"Then tell us what you know," said Triss, urging. "We are wasting valuable time."  
"I don't know anything!" yelled Margarita and reared up, so Triss and Mikaela had trouble holding her.   
Lambert drew back the sword, bent over and held it against the neck of the student he had threatened before. Now she was silent, she said no more, while tears ran down her cheeks and she looked pleadingly at the headmistress. 

"It's too dangerous," Margarita said quietly. "You'll regret this. You'll all pay for this."  
"You first," Lambert said unmoved.   
"Rita, please," said Triss. "I don't want anything to happen to you or your students."  
"Then you probably shouldn't have brought that brute," Margarita hissed. She wriggled around angrily, and finally she managed to free herself. But before she had the chance to cast a spell, Lambert jumped at her. Now she had the sword at her throat. The two young sorceresses looked at each other, jumped up and ran out of the room. They could be heard screaming in the corridor.   
"They will use the Megascope to get help," Mikaela said nervously. She rushed to close the door.  
"Who could they get?" Lambert replied. "Until they get here, this place will be ashes."  
"Kill me and you won't find out anything," said Margarita with clenched teeth.   
"Then talk!" Lambert yelled at her. The sorceress was wise enough to avoid any wrong move. She knew exactly what a witcher was capable of.

"All right. I procured the dagger, but I didn't enchant it. And I swear, I didn't know what she was gonna do with it!"  
"Who is she?" Triss asked. Rita looked at her, but didn't answer.  
"I did not betray that the Emperor would be here," she went on. "That wasn't necessary, she found out all by herself. I tried to get rid of them after the vampire attacked them here. So it wouldn't happen again."  
"What makes you think they were safer in the palace than here?" Triss asked angrily. The other sorceress did not answer that either, but it was clear that her motives had not been altruistic at all.  
Mikaela suddenly said, "If no one told, how could anyone know that Geralt and the Emperor were here?"   
"From your portal, girl!"   
"That's not possible. No one can trace a portal."  
"That wasn't necessary. The presence of recent events can be reconstructed. With a little sleight of hand, enough information can be extracted."  
Triss frowned.  
"This is extremely powerful magic. Impossible without tools. It would probably require artifacts…“

"So, the only traitors were the guards," Lambert suddenly said. "That's what the bard found out. Geralt and the Emperor should have only noticed the attack when it was too late. But that went wrong and the guards messed up. So whoever led the attack learned about Aretuza through magic and changed the plan."  
"By letting a vampire invade the academy, yes," Triss said. "But why would he get involved?“  
"Perhaps because everyone who was involved in this thing had some benefit," Lambert replied. "The guards were bribed. And what did you get, huh?"   
He pushed the sword a little harder against Margarita's neck. She tried to back away, but Mikaela stood behind her and held her down firmly. She might not agree with Lambert's actions, but she was determined to find the truth. And she knew that they all had nothing to lose if they wanted to save Geralt and Emhyr yet.

"I really didn't know about the attack," the sorceress claimed with an expression that distorted her beautiful face unpleasantly. It was hard to tell what it was - fear, guilt, anger?  
"Look around you. This place is a ruin. I was to train women here who would one day serve kings? I'm supposed to tame the chaos in the few we have left with practically nothing in my hands? I've made decent money simply procuring a dagger."  
"That was not decent money, that was blood money," Lambert said.  
"What about me?" Mikaela wanted to know. "Did you put a spell on me so that no suspicion fell on you?"  
"Nothing happened to you, damn it!" Margarita yelled.  
"Nothing _happened_? I could have died!"

"Is this little conversation going anywhere?" Lambert asked impatiently. "I want to know where the teleport was leading, damn it."  
"I don't _know_ ," Margarita hissed.   
"But you have a clue," suspected Triss.  
"If I tell you, I'm dead," Margarita said with a blank face.   
In the meantime, tumultuous noises could be heard from the corridor.   
"They are coming," said Triss. "We have to leave, this could become unpleasant. I don't know who they called.“

"Not until we have an answer," Lambert pressed out. "Hold them off as long as you can."  
Mikaela looked at Triss uneasily. She thought for a moment, but their options had run out. She nodded at the court sorceress. Together they pushed the heavy desk against the door to block it. Then they positioned themselves waiting in front of it. They had no idea who or what they would have to fend off, but they had no choice but to be ready.  
"I'm still willing to destroy as much of your little ruin as I can for as long as I can," Lambert turned to Margarita.   
"If I survive this, I will come for you one day," she hissed.  
Lambert laughed.  
"Then get in line. Come on now: Where does the teleport go?“

"There's a small island in the middle of the sea, south of Thanedd," she eventually replied. "It is not one of the Thanedd Islands, too far away. At some point in time mages built a tower there."  
"That old story?" threw Triss in. "Of the renegade sorcerers who tried to form a secret society to take Thanedd from within?"  
Margarita nodded as best she could with the blade at her throat.  
"Is she there?"  
Margarita hesitated. It was a while before she answered.  
"I suppose so.“  
„Who _is_ she?“  
"You might as well kill me right now, because if I tell, I'm dead anyway.“

Lambert drew his sword back. Margarita took a step backwards and rubbed her neck.  
"How do we get there?" he asked.  
Someone banged on the door.   
"Open up! Headmistress Laux-Antille, are you in there?" a man yelled.   
"We can't get there," said Triss. She mobilized her powers once more to open a portal. "We're getting out of here," she explained, "away from here for now. Regis has given us a clue, and I know who can help us."  
She grabbed the reluctant Mikaela by the arm, who still looked at Margarita angrily.   
"You can forget Aretuza!" she shouted at her. "When the Emperor is finished with you, you can forget everything!"  
"That remains to be seen.“

Margarita raised both arms and shouted a spell. Deadly flames shot out of her hands, while the door burst open with a cracking sound, because it was forced open from outside. Lambert jumped forward, grabbing Triss and Mikaela with him and pushing them through the portal before it was hit by Margarita's scorching flames.

[Ride into obsession, Blind Guardian](https://open.spotify.com/track/4J4E9Lz1HCFKvZg7Y1oHUy?si=2KcSSlU8Sk6MHOHD9wKu-A)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I figured it wouldn't be complete without the namesake song ...


	29. Timeless spirits

— 28 —  
  
The white wolf is howling  
Talk, talk to me  
Will you walk with me?  
Will you come along?  
The raven is cawing  
Talk, talk to me  
  
**Timeless spirits**  
  


They literally flew through the teleport, stumbled, went down. Lambert rolled over, the sorceresses landed - more or less cursing - on their outstretched hands. At the same moment the portal died.   
"That was close," Lambert noticed dryly and rose.   
Triss also stood up, tapping off her clothes and saying, "At some point, we're going to have to talk about what you did there.“

"Can't wait," Lambert said, and reached out a hand to Mikaela to help her up. She took it hesitantly.   
"You weren't really going to..." she started.   
"Where are we?" he interrupted her and looked around.   
Triss nervously chewed on her lower lip.   
"We had to move fast," she said, checking the area. Relieved, she registered that they were standing on a shore, the sea in front of them, endless forest behind them. She turned to the side and fixed the horizon.  
"Back there, there's Aretuza," she said, pointing to a point far away, although it was not more than a distant outline on the horizon, which may have been a building.  
"Damn far away," Lambert grumbled.   
"We have no intention of going back," said Triss sharply. "We need a boat.“

"A _boat_?" echoed Mikaela.  
"How do you think we get to the island?"  
"We'll try to free them?" Mikaela asked incredulously. "Alone? There are two higher vampires and probably a mighty sorceress whose powers we do not even suspect."  
"Then we must be quick," Lambert said determinedly. "I'm in."  
"You are mad," said Mikaela.  
"Even if we mobilise an army, it would never get here in time," Triss replied. "There is only us. We need a plan, and fast.“

"We can't plan anything because we don't know what to expect," said Mikaela, shaking her head.   
"That's why we need the element of surprise," Triss replied. "Mikaela, listen, you don't have to join in. It's dangerous, maybe this will be a suicide mission. But I'm counting on two things: That we can distract them until we teleport Geralt and the Emperor out of there. And that Regis can free himself from his hypnosis, or whatever it is. He's signaled us, I'm sure. It would be a lot safer if you joined us. But..."  
"Are you out of your mind?" Mikaela shouted, her nerves strained to breaking point.   
"I never said I wouldn't go. I would never abandon those two.“   
A bit calmer now, she continued: "I'm just saying it's crazy. That's all.“  
"Then let them call us crazy," Lambert said. "I'm just worried about how to get close to the island without them noticing us. And where to get a boat."

"The boat is not a problem," said Triss with a smile. "After all, we are where I wanted us to be. Well, half an hour away, maybe."  
„You're speaking in riddles."  
"She knows this place," Mikaela surmised. "Did you arrange a boat here?"  
"I'm not a clairvoyant," Triss replied. "There is an old boathouse here, somewhere up the coast. Some kind of smuggler runs a business there."  
"A smuggler?" Lambert repeated incredulously.   
Triss giggled. "What do you think a student is allowed to own in Aretuza? Almost nothing. And what do they want? Almost everything they are not allowed to. It has always been a thriving business."  
"And the headmistress doesn't know about it? I can hardly imagine," said Lambert.   
In the meantime, they set off and followed the coastline.   
Triss shrugged.  
"I think Tissaia knew about it," she replied. "And maybe Margarita, too. They just never did anything about it."  
"Because they themselves had benefited," Mikaela said with a smile.   
"Oh, the human abysses," Lambert said, shaking his head. "Can you be sure he's still running this business? With respect, it's been a while since you were a student there, Merigold. And the Academy was out of action for a while."  
"Don't worry. It's not a human being. And it's very patient."

They had been moving pretty fast for a while, until they could actually make out a small landing stage in the distance, but not too far away.   
"There it is," Triss said with relief. "And I think…“, she was shielding her eyes from the light, „yes, there is a boat."  
"Fine, but how do we get to the island unnoticed?" Lambert asked.  
"We can try to disguise the boat... when we are close enough to the island," Mikaela considered.   
"I thought of that too," Triss responded. "It is easier if we do it together, but it will still take some energy. We have to make sure we have enough left for a portal at the end. You'll have to buy us time, Lambert."  
He just nodded.

"Wait," Mikaela suddenly said. "Earlier, in Aretuza, you said that Regis had given a clue. And that you know who can help us."  
"That's right", Triss replied. She rummaged in her pockets and took out the communication device she had already used at the Wyzima palace.   
"I still have it," she said with the xenogloss in her hand. "And you'll never guess who else has one."

—

  
Emhyr had helped Geralt to sit up with some effort. He sat leaning against the bed frame to which he was tied; still a bit dizzy and with the unreal feeling that came with the blood loss. He managed to press the cloth onto his side himself, even though he thought it had no effect at all. Emhyr had told him what Regis had done. He hadn't wanted to believe it, but he felt the result all too clearly. The pain was back too, stronger than before. 

Was it because the sorceress, whoever she was, was close? Did her presence intensify the spell, or was it just because the end was near? Geralt knew exactly how curses worked. He just didn't know what the point was. Except that said sorceress took pleasure in the fact that Emhyr had to watch him die. But he wasn't dead yet, even if his side felt like someone kept pushing a knife into it and turning it around with pleasure - again and again. But pain meant that he was still alive. And he intended to stay alive as long as possible. 

"How long have we been here?" he asked. He had lost track of time.   
"Maybe an hour," Emhyr replied. But he had counted every single minute - he knew exactly how much time had passed. Too much, anyway. Why hadn't the sorceress appeared yet?   
"What did you have in mind?" Geralt suddenly wanted to know.  
"Hm?" Emhyr watched him closely. The concern in his eyes was unmistakable. There was nothing he could do about it now.   
"You said Regis had mentioned something that you understood... or something like that?"   
"I said that Regis had probably left us a message," replied Emhyr. „I think so, at least. And I hope that they understood that, too. Merigold, in any case."  
"She doesn't like to be called that," Geralt murmured, somewhat distracted. Emhyr looked at him attentively.   
"Don't fall asleep," he warned him.   
"I am awake," the witcher replied, staring past Emhyr. He tried to lift himself up.   
"Careful! What's the matter?"  
Geralt stretched out his free left arm and pointed in bewilderment into a corner of the room, to a place Emhyr had not noticed before. Now he followed Geralt's gaze. 

"Are those..." he asked incredulously and wondered how he had missed that.   
"My _swords_ ," Geralt said.   
He would have recognized them everywhere: the engraved runes, the perfect blades, made just for him. The swords were unique, made from an ancient pattern that had cost him a lot of time and effort to obtain. They were more than precious, extremely expensive and irreplaceable. 

"She's kidding," he said."It's like Mikaela said - it's a game."  
"She takes your swords, and then she gives them back to you. What kind of game is this?"  
"One that's about power. Give them to me," he demanded.   
"Geralt, you can't even stand. What do you want with the swords?“  
"Whether I can stand we won't know until I try, right? See if my armour is there too," he said.   
Emhyr shook his head.   
"I think I liked you better unconscious," he murmured as he stood up, went to the wall and picked up the swords.  
"I heard that," Geralt said.  
"'I cannot see any armor,' Emhyr said after he had looked around thoroughly.  
"Of course, why would she give me an advantage", muttered Geralt. "Never mind. I don't know if I could put it on."  
Emhyr carefully laid the swords on the bed next to Geralt.  
"First, we have to get rid of these shackles," he said. "I have no idea how..."

At that moment, the door was opened. Regis entered, followed by the second vampire - although it seemed strangely like it was the other way around.  
None of them seemed to pay much attention to the fact that Geralt had his swords with him. They must have known anyway that the witcher swords had been in the room.  
"Why is the witcher awake?" the other vampire asked Regis.   
Regis threw a glance at Geralt, which he couldn't interpret. 

"I created the sedative especially for his mutations," Regis defended himself.   
"Apparently not good enough."  
"Anies..."  
The vampire hissed and looked sharply at Regis. Geralt drew the same conclusion as Triss, even if he couldn't have known it: that maybe Regis wasn't completely under the other man's influence. Maybe he tried to defend himself.  
"Regis, look at me," he said insistently. "Whatever you've done, it's not too late."  
"For you, it is," replied the vampire whom Regis had called Anies."I think your time is running out. You better hope that your lover here can settle his affairs with the sorceress soon. Perhaps then there will be a less painful end for you.“

"Why are you telling us this?" Emhyr said coldly. "Will that sorceress ever appear? So far we've had nothing but delays. And what role do you two play in this game?“  
"Oh, Regis here was to keep the witcher alive as long as possible," the vampire replied. "Or maybe not, depending on the outcome of the case. I'm only here to make sure he does what needs to be done.“  
"He has given him something to speed up the bleeding," said Emhyr. "How is that supposed to keep him alive?"  
"I'm afraid it was just a little trick," Regis said, and Geralt imagined he could actually hear a hint of regret in his voice. "A little drama to get you to follow us."  
"He's not in danger at all?"   
Anies laughed softly.  
"I'm afraid so," he replied. "The spell is designed to accelerate. Either way, he'll bleed to death. Unless the pain kills him first, if such a thing is even possible. I’ve seen stranger things.“

"What is the point of all this?" Emhyr, in spite of the danger, grabbed the vampire's arm and held him, forced him to look at him. And Anies did, he looked at him - with astonishment. He raised one hand and pushed aside the emperor's iron grip with a lightness that was terrifying. Emhyr staggered at the force that had been exerted. Geralt reached out for him - a helpless gesture that apparently amused the vampire.  
"You both have no idea what you're dealing with," he said.   
"Then enlighten us at last," Emhyr pressed out.   
Anies was about to answer when his gaze fell towards the door. Like pulled on a string, everyone followed his eyes.

Although it was a bright morning, the half-opened door lay in the dark. It was an unnatural darkness, like a shadow of something that had never been in the light. A dramatic effect, thought Geralt, who slowly groped for his swords with his left hand. The handle of the silver sword nestled almost automatically against his hand. He had no idea if he could wield it, let alone lift it. Whether he was able to use it against anyone was doubtful. But without a fight - the sheer attempt of it - he certainly wouldn't give up. He noticed how Emhyr stiffened, straightened up, almost as if he took the _form_ of the emperor. He seemed to have the same thought. Geralt was too consumed by the fire that raged in his side and too busy not to surrender to his inner demons that might drag him into a darkness from which he would not return. So he did what he was used to: He didn't give a name to what he felt at the sight of Emhyr.

What was there in the darkness - and there was someone, it wasn't just perceivable - was just bare outlines.   
"It's time," a voice said.  
Neither Geralt nor Emhyr were sure if they knew this voice. Both had the vague feeling that they might know it. As if they only had to dig deep enough into their memories. Or to try harder.   
"Show yourself. Let's get it over with," Emhyr said in the most relaxed voice he could muster. It was not surprising for Geralt how cold the man could be. That he could do it now was almost admirable.

At that moment, an unnaturally bright glow filled the whole room, like a sudden flash of light. There was a short, strange sound - _as if something had moved faster than the light_ , Geralt thought fleetingly. With a scream, something rushed at Anies, who was completely taken by surprise. Steel flashed up - dark steel.   
The shadow at the door disappeared as if it had never been there.  
Someone screamed again - did they all scream?  
Emhyr turned to Geralt, grabbed him firmly by the shoulders, his eyes were wide open.  
_Ciri_? Geralt thought.  
Then all hell broke loose.


	30. And then there was silence

— 29 —  
  
She’s like the sunrise  
Outshines the moon at night  
Precious as starlight  
She will bring in a murderous prize  
  
**And then there was silence  
  
**

For it was in fact Ciri who threw herself upon the vampire and it was her sword that cut through his flesh like a force of nature. Had they not counted on her, had they not known what she was capable of? Both was equally likely, as unprepared as they were for this attack and considering the fact that the sorceress had immediately retreated - if she had ever really been standing there and had not just used any illusions.

But here was Ciri, their daughter, in all her glory and all her rage. Maybe she couldn't kill a higher vampire, but she would cause him as much harm as possible. Geralt was worried about Regis - what would he do? Ciri was quite capable of fending off two attacks at once, but two vampires... Useless as it was, he tugged at his bonds again.  
"Which of them has the key?" he whispered to Emhyr after he had made a futile - and quite strenuous - attempt to strike the iron with his sword.  
The answer came in an unusual way, and it was brutal. 

Ciri had - like Triss, from whom she had been called - placed her bet on the element of surprise. Far away from here, in Brugge, a whole court was probably wondering about her sudden disappearance. She didn't care what the king thought of it, although - as she knew very well - she should care. At least she was willing to think about how she could smooth things over later.

She had never given up on her beloved sword Zireael; she would never do so, even if she had chosen the diplomatic path. And look how good it was that she had not, and look: She had forgotten nothing. Her attack might have lacked finesse, but that was fine, it was good, Geralt thought, because she was fighting a damn vampire. And if it was anger that was leading the sword, then anger was her advantage. She literally hacked him to pieces, and in the very first minutes she was so fast and so powerful that not even Regis could react. If he even wanted to.

She struck twice before Anies even had a chance to realize what was happening, and a third time before he managed to fend off her attack. Emhyr - who had never seen her like this before and wasn't sure if the sight should disturb or relieve him - only noticed one thing: That her third strike destroyed something so violently that he got a full load of blood on his face. Something flew past him - a body part maybe, a gruesome piece of flesh; whatever it was, it was horrible enough. But it wasn't the only thing: in the midst of the mass, cut off with horrible force, lay, unintentionally but all the more welcome, the key to the handcuffs. 

Geralt, half covered by Emhyr, hadn't seen anything at all, only noticed that Emhyr had suddenly bent down and now reappeared. The sight must have been so disturbing that Emhyr quickly said: „It’s not my blood". Without even bothering to wipe his face, he tampered with the shackles. Two attempts were necessary before he finally succeeded in opening them.

"I would kiss you, but you look like crap", Geralt said roughly, grabbed the sword again and tried to stand up.   
"Speak for yourself", Emhyr murmured and caught him - for the attempt was not very successful. No sooner had his feet touched the ground than Geralt had gone to his knees. He cursed. Emhyr managed to hold him for a while, but even without armor he was quite heavy.  
"We have to get out of here," Emhyr said and tried to support him, but it was useless. Geralt slumped to the ground, as much as Emhyr tried to hold him, there was no more resistance at all. Trying to get up had overloaded his circulation, and blood loss and pain did the rest. 

"Get him out of here," Ciri shouted to him as she retreated - the vampire had finally overcome his surprise and adapted to her attack. Whatever she had done to him before was only superficial damage. What did the deep cuts in his body matter, they already healed. Now Regis also freed himself from his paralysis. Anies extended his claws and called out to the other one to help him. To defend him. Ciri fended off an attack of the sharp claws and saw Regis turning to her. 

"Regis!" she called out. "Fight it! We are your friends!"  
But it was hard to tell what Regis thought and felt, how much he was influenced by the manipulation of the other vampire. He did not attack yet, but Ciri could literally feel the danger intensifying. She had to buy Emhyr time. And when she lifted the sword again, barely dodging one of the vampire's pranks, and then hit him fiercely in his chest, she thought: _Triss, hurry up. Please hurry up.  
  
_

—  
  


_"Ciri?"_ Mikaela asked.  
Lambert, who had taken the helm of the small boat and was now steering them quickly but safely through the water, said, "Damn good idea."  
"I agree with you," she replied.  
"With her help, we have a real chance," Triss replied.   
"Two vampires are no walk in the park," Lambert said as he slammed the oars into the water with force.   
"Not to mention the sorceress - we have no idea who we are dealing with," said Mikaela. "What about Yennefer? Will she come?"  
"I don't know," Triss replied hesitantly. "We haven't had a chance to talk."

Frankly, she had been surprised anyway that Ciri had answered her immediately. When she had given her the xenogloss some time ago and asked her to stay in touch with her - because the opportunities to see each other were becoming less and less frequent and maybe also because she found the thought unbearable that Yennefer would have her around all the time while she wouldn’t - Ciri had laughed at first. She had found it somehow nostalgic, "typically Triss," she had said, but she had done her the favor. Triss wouldn't have been surprised if Ciri had left the device in Wyzima. In that case they would probably have been stuck. But no: Ciri always had it with her, as she had admitted, on each of her journeys.   
"A nostalgic quirk," she called it. A sign of affection, Triss called it, even if she didn't say it. 

Ciri hadn't hesitated. When Triss made it clear to her what was at stake - and it was, ultimately, perhaps the entire empire - Ciri hadn't thought about politics. She thought only of Geralt and Emhyr when she ran from the throne room of Brugge to get the second item that accompanied her on every journey, nostalgia or not. Zireael in her hands, surrounded by startled courtiers and dressed completely unsuitable for a fight - though not in a dress, she had always insisted on that - she had suddenly disappeared from the royal palace. One flicker of light, and she was gone, her thoughts following the sparse information she had from Triss and the lifelines of the two people she was planning to protect. Another flicker of light, and she came closer to them. And another one. And another. And while the small boat deep below her on the sea struggled to reach a tiny island - she felt it more than she could actually see it - she was already there. 

The passengers on the boat didn’t know about that. Strong and steady, Lambert pushed the boat forward, and the island came into sight, and the tower in front of them grew larger. He thought briefly, with sincere regret, that he had left Geralt's replacement swords behind in Aretuza. At the same time he thought that a set of swords was just the least of their problems. Although Geralt might see it differently. 

"It's time," Triss said softly. Mikaela nodded. Both sat facing each other, raised their hands, put their palms together and looked at each other insistently. Then they closed their eyes. Lambert didn't understand the muttered words, but he saw the rising fog that literally swallowed the boat - and yet he could see through it, could still clearly follow their path. Lambert wondered if it also looked like a fog from the outside. Probably not - a suddenly approaching fog would be so conspicuous that they could just as well have arrived with fanfares. It was no simple magic, but Lambert pushed the thought aside. He had to trust that the sorceresses could still mobilize forces if it would be necessary. And it would be, if they all wanted to get out of there alive. 

  
Finally they reached the island, jumped out of the boat carefully and pulled it as quietly as possible to the gravel-covered shore. The tower rose before them like a cruel memorial. It was unnaturally quiet. There were no birds this far out, and the island was far too small for other animals. There was nothing but the tower. If there had ever been vegetation, it had long disappeared. 

Lambert drew his sword as soon as he reached shore. The tower had a comparatively simple wooden entrance door, neither secured with a lock nor magic, as the sorceresses discovered after a short examination. These mages of old must have been very sure that they were safe here, Lambert thought. The thought worried him somehow. 

The door could be opened without any problems. The passage behind it was dark - there was no window on the lowest floor of the building. Lambert went ahead. Directly opposite the entrance was a staircase leading up, and another door, half open. The witcher pushed it open and walked, sword ahead, carefully into the room behind it. It was completely empty, there was nothing in here but dust and dirt. 

"Upstairs," he said quietly, and the sorceresses followed him. The steps led them over several flights of stairs, empty rooms lay everywhere. In some of them there were broken pieces of furniture, in one there was a pile of books of which almost only burnt ashes remained. But nowhere a trace of life. Suddenly Lambert heard a noise. It sounded like...   
"Sounds of battle. From above," he grumbled and hurried out of the room, up the stairs. Triss ran after him. Mikaela followed, but she reacted a bit too late - they already had a small lead as she approached the stairs. 

Out of the corner of her eye she noticed a movement at her side. They must have missed the small niche in the wall _(did they really?)_. Surprised, Mikaela turned around. She froze. A figure emerged from the niche.  
"You?" Mikaela whispered in horror. "What...?"  
She could not complete the sentence. She was struck by a blow she had never seen coming, with a violence she had never experienced.   
_That’s banned magic_ , she thought. And then she thought nothing more.

Triss, hurrying up the stairs, turned around at that very moment to look for Mikaela. She saw her fall, saw the surprised look on her face - but she didn't see the attacker.  
"No!" she screamed, stopped as if struck by lightning, turned around and ran back down the stairs.  
"Merigold!" Lambert yelled after her. He hesitated for a moment, but then he ran further up the stairs. To him, this sorceress looked dead. He preferred to focus on the living - _if_ they were still alive. 

Triss reached Mikaela, went down before she even realized it and slid on her knees towards the sorceress. She took her head between her hands, "No, no, no," she whispered, checked her pulse, put a hand on her chest - but all the healing magic in the world could not help her anymore. In panic, Triss looked around. But whoever had done this, whoever had killed the imperial court sorceress - she was gone. Without a trace, as if no one had ever been here. Nothing was left but dust and dirt. And in that dust and dirt, she had to leave Mikaela.  
  
"I will not leave you behind. I will come back“, she whispered with tears in her eyes. She briefly stroked a lifeless hand, then she detached herself forcefully from the dead sorceress and jumped to her feet.   
They would pay for it. And she would find the sorceress, Triss swore to herself, whatever it took. But now it was time to protect the living. With one last glance at brown curls and broken eyes, she fled up the stairs.   
  


—  
  


"You must get up," Emhyr said insistently. Around them the fight was still raging and he saw Regis looking back and forth between Geralt, Ciri and the other vampire. His hands, now with fingers like claws, clenched into fists and relaxed again, in quick succession, as if he was fighting with himself. His face changed as well, in a way Emhyr never wanted to see again and which would probably give him nightmares, and not only because of the teeth that could be seen - and then again his face remained normal, as if he couldn't decide which shape he wanted to take. 

  
"Come on", he urged again and grabbed Geralt by the arms. But his look was glassy. Half sitting, half lying, he rested in a puddle of his own blood by now, as Emhyr noted in horror.   
"I'll pull you out by your hair if I have to," he growled. "Look at me!"  
It seemed to work, Geralt turned his head and actually looked at him.   
"You love my hair," he murmured.   
"Yes, yes, I love your hair, now get the hell up," Emhyr shouted at him.   
"I can't," Geralt replied, and he smiled and let go of the sword, and Emhyr felt his blood solidify. 

He knelt down next to him, he didn't care that he almost slipped on the blood - no, actually he _did_ care, it scared the hell out of him. Behind them Ciri fought the vampire mercilessly, but this could not go on forever. Regis would not stand around eternally, and Emhyr would not wait to see which side he would choose. 

Suddenly, the half-opened door was pulled to the side with a sweep, and Lambert appeared on the threshold. With one look he took in the situation and without thinking further, he pushed Regis aside forcefully and threw himself on the other vampire.   
"Take him out!" he shouted to Emhyr.

"Lambert is here," Emhyr said unnecessarily to Geralt, or maybe just to calm himself down. "Geralt. Do you hear me? It's getting uncomfortable here. Let's go," he said gently.  
Geralt did not answer.   
Emhyr took his face between his hands and spoke softly to him.   
"You will not give up," he adjured him. "Even if I have to carry you out of here myself."  
For a moment, Geralt's eyes focused, and he looked at him with a clear expression.   
"I want to see that," he said blurredly.  
"Then watch carefully," mumbled Emhyr and grabbed him under the shoulders. Geralt neither resisted nor could he do anything to support him. He snorted when Emhyr started to drag him across the floor, then he moaned in pain.   
"Don't you dare faint," Emhyr yelled to him over the noise of the battle, which was still raging.

Ciri and Lambert both noticed that he finally managed to get Geralt out of the room. The trail of blood they left behind was frightening. They had nearly reached the door, when Anies launched a furious attack that almost brought Lambert down.   
"Emiel!" yelled the vampire. "Stop them!"   
Ciri pushed forward again and almost chopped off his left forearm. The vampire howled and took a step back.   
It was at that moment that Regis' gaze finally cleared. This one moment of distraction was enough - the other vampire's injury was hardly worth mentioning, but it was probably the sheer force of the attacks that had taken him by surprise. He was not able to maintain both in a sufficient degree: full control over Regis and the counterattack. 

And they were only two humans, Regis thought in amazement. But humans with extraordinary abilities and with extraordinary determination, driven by friendship and love, filled with bonds that the other could hardly comprehend. Even though Anies was still comparatively young, he had lived long enough to know what humans were capable of. But in his arrogance and his will to find a way out of this world, he had preferred to ignore this. 

And yet Regis could not bring himself to attack him. For all that Anies had done, he was still of his kind. He looked around, and what he saw filled him with shameful horror. What had he done? What had he done to his friends? It was unbearable. And so Regis, who could not remember ever having been a coward in his long life, but who was now overcome by feelings he could not explain, preferred to literally dissolve - and he fled.

Finally, Emhyr had managed to pull Geralt over the threshold, out of the room, out of the danger zone, as he hoped. He heard the vampire yelling at Regis to go after them, and he wondered for a moment if he had the strength to deal with it, if Regis actually would. But what could he do? If the vampire decided to rip them both apart... he dropped the thought and focused on Geralt. 

He pulled him as far away from the door as he could. The groans and anguished protesting noises had long since ceased. He let him sink to the ground. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Triss finally storming up the stairs.   
"You'll be safe in a moment," he said. "Just hang in there."  
He slapped his face lightly, much softer than before.   
"Look at me," he demanded. "Just look at me and you'll be able to rest soon, I promise."  
With great difficulty Geralt cracked his eyes open.   
Behind him, Triss opened a portal with her last reserves.   
"It won't last long," she called out. "I have to get the others. Bring him through!"   
Emhyr nodded, but kept looking at Geralt only.   
"Once more," he said softly.   
Geralt shook his head.   
"Don't," he murmured. "Hurts."  
"I know. It'll be over soon."  
_No,_ thought Geralt with his last clear thoughts, _you don't know, maybe it's never over?_ Because it felt like it would never be over. He was nothing but pain now, and the sounds became quieter and quieter and condensed, as if he was moving towards a tunnel. He felt, more than he heard it, that Emhyr was still talking to him, but he couldn’t see him anymore, and he would have liked to tell him that he... 

And his eyes were still open, but his gaze, directed far into the distance, broke, and he stopped breathing.   
Emhyr yelled at him and punched him in the chest with his fist. Behind him, Lambert rushed out of the room. He pushed Emhyr aside and took Geralt in his arms with a single flowing movement.   
"Through the portal, quick!“ he yelled, and he ran ahead and disappeared. Emhyr saw Triss coming out of the room, and he heard Ciri scream, and then Triss just pushed him through the teleport, and he heard and saw nothing more.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Although it's all very dramatic of course, this is my song for the chapter: [Just breathe, Pearl Jam.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XTb9GNIxpMk)


	31. And the story ends

— 30 —

And the story ends  
Insanity said coldly  
Still waiting for the chance  
So out of nowhere it will rise  
Oh, and another journey starts  
By the call of the moon

**And the story ends**  
  


He awoke to a rather familiar sight. There, a few steps ahead of him, was the window with which it all had started. It was open - how many times had he told him that he never slept with the window open? - and let in cool air that carried the first scent of a beginning spring. At the window sat a raven that seemed to stare at him. After Geralt watched it, the bird croaked briefly, pecked at the window frame - it seemed like a farewell gesture, he thought fleetingly - and flew away. 

Geralt turned his head. Emhyr sat on a chair that he had pushed as close to the bed as possible, on his lap a book he was not reading. For he looked out of the window, but his gaze made it clear that he was basically looking nowhere. As if he had felt Geralt's glance, he suddenly turned around. He jumped up, the book fell to the floor - an unusually erratic gesture - and sat down on the bed next to Geralt.

He reached for his hand. It was the right one, Geralt noticed, and he felt it - felt Emhyr's motion, and he had no difficulty meeting the pressure of his hand.  
"Three days, Geralt," Emhyr said roughly. "If you frighten me like that again, I'll kill you myself."  
"Kiss me first", Geralt replied, his voice somewhat hoarsely. "Am I dreaming?"  
So he kissed him.  
"What do you think?"  
"I'm not sure yet..."  
So he kissed him again.

After that, Geralt was slightly out of breath, but he was sure he was indeed not dreaming.  
"How did we get here?" he asked.   
"Luck, timing and a lot of shoving," Emhyr replied dryly.  
"How do you feel?"  
Geralt thought about it for a moment. The pain - the last thing he remembered - was gone. He briefly lifted the sheets and found a bandage at his side, but there was no blood - he remembered the blood, a lot of blood.   
"It's almost scarred," Emhyr said. "One more for your collection."  
Geralt stared at him in confusion.  
"You found the sorceress? Who was she?"

Emhyr shook his head.   
"No one saw her. To this day we don't know who it was."  
He hesitated briefly. He would have to tell Geralt about Mikaela. But this subject was too dark for now. He didn't want to upset him - and at the same time he just wanted to enjoy that he was back. He would have to tell him, sooner or later. But that could wait a while. 

"But then how could the wound have healed?"   
"Geralt," said Emhyr reluctantly. "You were dead."  
When he noticed his gaze, he quickly went on: "Only for a few seconds. Your heart had stopped, but Lambert brought you back. And immediately afterwards, the bleeding stopped."  
"Technically, I was dead - the curse had fulfilled its condition," Geralt summed up.   
Emhyr nodded.   
"You slept for three days now. They claimed that it was normal, but..."  
Geralt looked at him searchingly. He sat up - it pinched in his side, the normal pain of healing, welcome as never before. Only now he noticed that Emhyr was unshaven, uncombed even. There were shadows under his eyes.

"Have you slept at all?" Geralt asked.   
"No", he admitted.   
"Idiot", Geralt said softly. "It was truly completely normal."  
"How could I have known? Nothing has been normal for the past few days."  
"That's true", sighed Geralt. Then, suddenly he said: "Ciri?"

Emhyr smiled.   
"There is nothing wrong with her, don't worry. She more or less chewed that vampire up, pardon the pun. Oh, and you were right. She screamed at me the second we stepped through the portal and the moment it was clear you were alive. Honestly, she used swear words I can only believe she learned them in Kaer Morhen a long time ago."  
Geralt grinned broadly.   
"Ah, you'll wipe that grin off your face", Emhyr continued. "She has sworn to shout at you, too."  
"Is she still here?"  
"Of course she is. She'll probably smack you in the face as soon as we tell her that you're awake."  
"We won't tell her yet," Geralt said. "What about Regis?"  
Emhyr's face darkened.  
"I don't know," he admitted. "He disappeared. I suppose the way Ciri destroyed that other vampire, he was able to free himself from this mind control. But we have not heard from him since.“  
But the raven, Geralt thought. What ever Regis was up to, he still did care.

"You realise he's not dead?" Geralt asked. "The vampire."  
"Lambert told me about it," Emhyr replied. He pulled a face. "And since we have not found the sorceress... they remain a threat. Perhaps not now, perhaps not tomorrow, but..."  
"We will take care of them," Geralt promised. "Someday we will find them."  
He was silent for a moment, then asked: "What about Yen?"  
"What about her?   
"She wasn't there, was she?"  
Emhyr shook his head. He hadn't thought about it.   
"I assumed she stayed in Brugge to smooth things over," he said. „Ciri must have left in quite a hurry. It’s not something kings and queens take easy.“  
Geralt seemed thoughtful, but did not deepen the subject. 

„Oh, since you’re dropping names“, Emhyr said and turned away for a moment to reach for something on a small table near the headboard of the bed.   
He held a letter in his hands. The smell of Dandelion's perfume was slowly fading, but unmistakable.  
"It arrived yesterday," he remarked. "It's addressed to both of us, so don't be surprised I've read it already."  
"Both of us?" Geralt asked astonished.   
"Read it," Emhyr said smiling. Geralt looked at him suspiciously and took the letter. He skimmed the lines, written in Dandelion's usual licentious manner. Then he hesitated.  
"Priscilla is pregnant?" he asked in surprise.   
"That's why he was acting so strangely - at least that's what he wrote. I couldn't say what would be stranger than usual about him," remarked Emhyr. "The rest of the letter is practically all about him being scared to death and asking us to give him advice."  
"Sorry, what?"  
"He writes that we are the only fathers he knows."  
„He’s asking us of all people?“  
They both snorted away.

Shortly afterwards Emhyr became serious again. He took the letter from Geralt's hands, put it away and looked at him.  
"Listen," he said. "There's something I want to tell you. Not only since you died in my arms, so to speak. But also because that's what happened."  
Geralt raised his hand and put a finger on his lips.  
"Don't say it," he pleaded softly.  
Emhyr pushed his hand away gently, but surely. 

"Why not?"  
He tried to make eye contact, but he couldn't interpret the expression in Geralt's golden eyes.  
"I have a history of ruined relationships," he finally replied.  
"Well, I have a history of ruined _countries_ ," Emhyr said.   
"That's not funny, Emhyr."  
"I did not laugh. Besides - I am your Emperor, I can tell you what ever I want."  
"You're not _my_ Emperor," Geralt claimed. "Witchers stay out of politics."  
"That would be news to me", Emhyr replied with raised eyebrows.  
"And I don't care. I am your Emperor as much as you are my witcher, whether you like it or not. And I love you. If you won't say it, fine. But I love you."  
"But I do want to," Geralt suddenly responded. 

Then he said it.  
And it was fine.  
He was fine. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are still appreciated very much here :) 
> 
> And you know what? [The story ain't over!](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pCKbHKMNNUQ)
> 
> So please check out ["Curse my name"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24019564/chapters/58180003), the sequel.
> 
> Join me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/DreamAndroids) or [Tumblr](https://do-androids-dream-ao3acc.tumblr.com) for a chat!


End file.
